The Shortest Distance
by yumi michiyo
Summary: It starts with a friendship composed of books, lazy summer afternoons, and understanding; and blossoms into more. Slowburn Fabrose. Season 4 canon divergence!AU.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:** _sometimes I think I'm not that strong (but there's a force that carries me on)_

* * *

She remembers learning about Glee club after her eighth-grade research project on Elvis; apparently he got his start performing in high school. To her, Glee sounds like someplace someone could find a life passion in, could learn to be themselves.

Plus, music. She's grown up listening to her mom singing in the kitchen, so she has nothing but positive associations with music and performing.

And so Glee club made sense when her mother lost her job, and they had to move to Lima when she was starting high school. She'd actually wanted to join the school's Glee club her freshman year (a decision that had nothing to do with the fact that they later won Nationals) but lacked the confidence. Even now, Marley still feels like she's over her head; she loves singing, and although she's still a little shy when it comes to performing, she's made some real friends.

Right now, though, she's wishing she hadn't added her name to the sign-up sheet all those months ago. She's starving and tired (but still too fat), feet twitching as she goes through their Regionals performance in her head because she's terrified she'll mess it up, and she has to help her mother with a catering job when she gets home from school today. Special guests or no special guests, she's this close to just skipping today –

– except the guests are already here. Brittany, happier than she's seen her in months, sits on the risers, talking to two other girls.

"Marley!" Brittany bounces over to her with her usual enthusiasm, giving her a quick hug. "Have you met Quinn and Santana?"

"Not really, no." Seeing them in the hallways briefly as she ducked in and out of classrooms last year certainly doesn't count. Marley just _knows_ Santana can see the fear on her face, knows that Santana is aware of the effect her reputation has on her.

"Oh, relax, sweetheart; I don't bite. Not you, anyway," smirks Santana, earning herself a smile from Brittany and an eyeroll from Quinn. Marley isn't sure if Santana's kidding or not.

Some of her trepidation must have shown, because Quinn says, "Shut up, S," and directs a friendly smile in her direction. "Ignore her – she's all bark and no bite these days actually."

Marley smiles back, though it's a little hesitant.

"San, be nice." Brittany slips an arm around Marley's, giving her elbow a squeeze. "Marley's my friend, and she's a great person." Suddenly, she frowns, and her grip briefly tightens around Marley's arm; Marley sucks a breath into suddenly-empty lungs. "Even if she thinks she isn't," adds Brittany in an undertone.

Before Marley can respond, Brittany's slipped away to Santana's side, and Quinn is staring at the both of them.

"I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom." She doesn't wait for them to respond before she's out of the choir room, feet taking her down the corridor to her preferred bathroom – the one in the science wing that nobody goes because it always stinks of whatever chemicals the labs were using that day. Glee was a bad idea, but now she can spend her afternoon getting rid of the grease she had to eat at lunch under her mom's eye, and maybe work out a bit before she has to help with the food prep…

"Marley."

She skids to a halt, surprised. "Yeah?"

All the friendliness is gone from Quinn's face, replaced by a keen intensity. "Is everything okay?"

The smile that stumbles onto her face is mostly surprise, though she tempers it with a self-conscious laugh. "Y-yeah. I'm fine, I just need to pee."

"No, you don't."

Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly.

Quinn sighs. "Look – I know you don't know me at all, but I also know what hiding a secret feels like. There's something you're not saying."

Her words put Marley on edge. "You're right. You don't know me, I don't know you, and I definitely don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't have time for this bullshit," snaps Quinn suddenly; her tense expression relaxes instantly when Marley flinches. "... I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" She frowns, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm still not very good at talking to people about these sort of thing."

Marley stays dumb.

"Brittany said something earlier, about you… I've known her for years, and I know a lot of people think that Brittany's just an airhead blonde, but she's a lot more perceptive than that." Quinn's eyes trail up Marley's body. "She knows something's not right, but it's not her place to say anything."

"Then what makes it _your_ place?"

Quinn smiles ruefully. "A lifetime of mistakes."

Marley relents – but by just a fraction. "That's impossible. You're only, like, a couple years older than me."

"Getting drunk and pregnant by my then-boyfriend's best friend, then giving up the baby to my friend's biological mother; going through a punk phase, then finally this half-assed plan to get my daughter back," she recites, "cheating on my next boyfriend with the same guy I cheated on before. All before graduating high school." Quinn gives her a tired look that Marley recognizes; it's the look her mom wears when she balances the checkbook at the end of each month. "I think that counts as an entire lifetime of mistakes."

"... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've done some fucked-up things, and gotten what I deserved for them. I've learned my lessons." The swear sounds incongruous, something too coarse to have come from Quinn's mouth. "Anyway, that wasn't the point of me telling you. I just wanted you to know that I've been there."

"Okay, but that still doesn't have anything to do with me."

"You don't want to talk. That's fine," Quinn persisted, "but I know there's something seriously wrong; Brittany wouldn't have said anything if there wasn't."

"No offence, but Brittany should mind her own business. And so should you." Marley feels her cheeks flush – she's never been this rude to anyone before, and her heart pounds in her chest.

Quinn presses her lips into a thin line. "I'll let that go just this once, but you shouldn't say anything about Brittany. She's a good person, and I know you are too."

"No, I'm not." Marley takes a deep breath. "... I'm fat."

"No, you're _not_ ," is the automatic, incredulous response that comes from Quinn. "Have you seen yourself? I used to wish I was as thin as you are now."

"I'm not thin. I need to lose weight, but I can't control myself." Her hands are shaking. This is the first time she's tried to verbalise the swirling emotions she feels. "I eat because everybody expects me too, then I have to undo it."

Quinn's face darkens. "Marley, no."

"Yes."

"What you're doing isn't healthy. There are diets and exercise plans…"

"Those aren't good enough!" Marley explodes.

Quinn stares at her.

She's quivering. She's unlocked all those pent-up emotions that had no outlet, and she just wants to inflict all this pain on Quinn, as her punishment for setting them free from her Pandora's box. "I don't… I'm not that pretty, or smart. The guys only talk to me because we're in Glee, and we have to perform together. Given the choice, they'd rather talk to pretty girls like Brittany, or Kitty, or even Tina… Not plain, quiet Marley Rose with the homemade clothes and lunchlady mom." She drops her gaze, ashamed to have admitted what's on her mind, the anger gone from her. Her eyes well up with tears; Marley clenches her jaw, determined not to cry in front of Quinn. "It hurts. That's why I'm doing this. I need to make myself better."

"Marley."

She doesn't respond.

"Hey. Look at me? I need to tell you something important."

Marley's watery gaze remains fixed on Quinn's boots.

"... I'll make you a deal, okay? You look at me and let me say my piece. It's short, and I don't need you to respond if you don't want to. In return, I'll leave you alone, and I'll never talk to you again. This never happened. Is that okay, Marley?"

Quinn's voice is soothing. Marley finds herself wanting to trust that voice. Slowly, she lifts her chin, her mouth set in a defiant line to keep her tears at bay. Quickly, she finds Quinn's hazel eyes.

"Thank you." Quinn smiles briefly. "You're right. I don't know you. But I _do_ know that something like this eats at you, until you're just this hollow shell that just shows people what they want. The perfect daughter, head cheerleader, Christian, girlfriend." Quinn shakes her head. "And you know what you get for being what they want? Nothing. You don't even have yourself, because you lost that along the way."

"You know something's not right. I don't have to know you to know that." A smile quirks Quinn's lips. "But sometimes… you have to accept that some things are too much to handle alone."

Marley's lip twitches.

"It's hard, isn't it? How everyone seems so normal, and you're wondering: _Why do they have things so easy?_ " Quinn continues, merciless. "And you alone struggle with this millstone around your neck, and no one seems to care."

"How do you know that?" The question slips from Marley before she can stop herself.

"I was in a bad place too. Arguably I was worse, because I couldn't even admit to myself what was wrong, and you just opened up to a complete stranger," she smiles wryly, "but I got out. It took a very persistent and annoying someone going out of her way to help," her gaze slides somewhere beyond Marley, "but I managed it." Quinn takes a deep breath. "Yeah. That's… it's all I wanted to say. I need to get back to the choir room now. I prepared a routine with Britt and Santana, they'll be looking for me. Take care of yourself, Marley." She turns to go.

"Wait."

Quinn pauses, head turned to the left.

"I'm coming with you."

Marley quickens her pace, and steels herself; she returns Quinn's smile with a tentative one of her own. No eye contact though; she's not up to that right now.

They get back to the choir room to find everyone else already gathered. Santana makes a snide comment about making use of the facilities which Brittany quickly cuts off, adding a smile for Marley.

She spends the entire session in a daze; too focused on Quinn even for Kitty's veiled jabs. She watches Quinn dance, watches those pretty red lips form the words, and wonders how someone like _Quinn Fabray_ , the hotshot Ivy League freshman, used to be the Quinn Fabray that was described to her. All because she found the courage to seek help.

Marley looks down at her hands in her lap. Maybe... just maybe, she doesn't have to be strong enough to keep her system clean of fat. Maybe she doesn't have to be strong enough to look at the mirror and evaluate herself.

Maybe she can be strong enough to let go of all of it.

* * *

Marley feels a little better by the end of practice. Music has always buoyed her spirits – something that has never changed, even on a day like this.

"Alright, guys, we'll call it a day," says Mr Schue, and the room echoes with the scraping of chairs pushed back. Marley shoulders her backpack, already thinking of the work that's waiting for her at home, tuning out whatever the instructor's still saying. She sees Quinn ahead of her, flanked by Santana and Brittany, and Kitty trailing after them all. She can let them go first; the door's small, and the hall's bound to be congested from the other students finishing up their extracurricular clubs and activities.

Quinn catches her eye. The older girl gives her a small nod, and then turns away to answer a question Kitty's asked.

Marley scrapes together what's left of her self-confidence. She might still be shaky and small and uncertain, but she knows something big happened with her and Quinn, and she has to thank her, at least. Her mother raised her right.

"Quinn, wait up."

She turns a little too quickly, like she's been waiting for Marley the entire time. "Yes?"

"I, uh, wanted to thank you. For – earlier." Marley fidgets a bit with the strap of her backpack and does her best to tune out Kitty glaring at her. "I know what you said, but… you don't have to. Yeah."

Quinn absolutely beams at her – as does Brittany, but Marley doesn't notice – and says: "You're welcome. I'll see you around, Marley." And she's gone, with her friends. Kitty shoots a suspicious look at Marley but decides to go after Quinn instead, bustling down the corridor in the wake the three Cheerios have left.

Marley watches them disappear. She's still a nobody in the school, but somehow she feels a little lighter, a little different.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Chapter title comes from _Forget_ by Marina and the Diamonds. The title of the whole story comes from a quote by Charles Bukowski:

"The shortest distance between two points is often unbearable."


	2. Part One

**Part One:** _it's difficult to move on (when nothing was right and nothing's wrong)_

* * *

It almost feels like the years have blown past.

She's better, now; she's gotten help, and dealt with her issues. Now all that's left is this last, glorious, summer before she goes off to college.

A significant part of this summer, she's decided, is to be devoted to drinks. Not simply the consumption that was necessary for hydration, but whatever she can find; the summer heat makes everything so much more enjoyable. Even the icebox-cold grape soda (that was theoretically banned from the house because Marley's mom was on another diet) tastes especially refreshing on the porch.

Honestly, she only likes them because of the tickle of carbonation on her tongue rather than the sugar – and the simple fact she's now in a mental place that she can consume all that sugar without wanting to throw it up later.

Then a person jogging past takes Marley's attention completely off the drink. She doesn't realise she's been staring at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar person until she notices the attention, and slows.

"... Marley?"

"Quinn. Long time no see." She cringes internally, wishing she can take the words back the instant they leave her mouth.

Quinn, thankfully, doesn't seem to notice her awkwardness. "Hi. Wow," says Quinn. She jogs up to Marley's porch. "I didn't know you live here. I've been taking this route for the last few years."

She shrugs. "We're out a lot. Work, and school. You know."

"That explains it." Quinn swipes her hand on the side of her sweatpants, grimacing. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm all sweaty and gross."

Marley grins. "It's summer. You'd be hard-pressed to find something not sweaty and gross."

"That's true." Quinn brushes her hair out of her face. "You look well. How are you doing? You're a senior, aren't you?"

"Pretty good." It seems to Marley that Quinn doesn't remember their conversation years ago; she lets out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Unofficially, yes? I just graduated." Belatedly, she remembers the half-empty bottle of grape soda in her hand; Marley holds it up. "Uh, I'd offer you some but I've drunk half of this already," she says sheepishly. "I can get you a fresh one, if you'd like."

"No, thank you. It's carbonated, and that's not a good idea while exercising."

"Oh." Marley feels her face flame, to a degree that she can't reasonably blame the summer heat.

Quinn seems to sense her embarrassment, because she adds: "Maybe later? I need to shower and change, then I can come back."

"Oh, that's not – if you had other things planned…"

"I don't have anything planned." Quinn cocks her head to the side. "Well, now I do, unless you retract your offer."

Marley grins at her. "That depends. Do you like movies?"

"If you define movies as slasher flicks, I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass."

She wrinkles her nose. "I guess we agree on that. I was actually thinking _Perks of Being a Wallflower_?"

Quinn's smile broadens. "I'll be back in an hour."

* * *

Presumably, Quinn's hour was spent efficiently and simply. Go home, shower, get dressed, drive back to her house. Quinn is cool. Quinn looks like someone who has her life together.

Meanwhile, Marley's spent approximately fifteen minutes agonizing over her decision to invite Quinn back (especially now that she's convinced she's embarrassed herself completely), another ten minutes second-guessing her choice of movie, and thirty-five minutes prepping her living room for a casual movie-watching hang out with a friend – acquaintance – senior – _something_.

The doorbell sounds just as she tweaks the sofa cushion for the eleventh time. Marley takes a deep, steadying breath and centres herself like her therapist taught her, before she goes to answer it.

"Hi again." Quinn has on a light, summery dress in pastel blue that ends mid-thigh. She sighs as she steps into the house properly and Marley closes the door behind her. "God, it's hot."

"It is." Somehow, Marley manages to control herself long enough to nod at the sofa like a normal human being. "Make yourself comfy. Can I get you that grape soda I promised? Or would you like something else?"

Quinn's lips curl into a slow smile; it makes Marley's breath catch in her lungs. She blames the humidity. "Anything is fine, as long as it's iced."

"Got it." She reaches into the icebox – to find they're out of grape soda. Marley sighs. "Uh, we're out of soda," she calls in the direction of the living room, "is lemonade okay?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Cool. Gimme a sec… the DVD's been loaded already, you can go ahead and start the movie if you want." She reaches for the jug of lemonade that her mother just made that morning (a treat for themselves for completing an order) and fills a glass, adding ice cubes. Marley briefly contemplates adding a slice of lemon to the glass.

"Here you go."

Quinn makes a happy-sounding noise. "Thanks. It looks delicious."

"We have some canapes too, if you're hungry," adds Marley, lingering next to the sofa, prepared to dive back into the kitchen should Quinn take her up on the offer.

Quinn glances up at her. "Canapes? You have good taste," she jokes.

"Yeah, well…" She isn't sure how much she can disclose; it's ridiculous to assume that Quinn is still the Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray Kitty had so gleefully described to her. Looking at Quinn's disarming expression, Marley takes a leap of faith. "My mom made too much last night for this luncheon we catered for, so we get to eat it."

"Oh, your mom does catering as well?"

"Yeah, since school's done for the summer. No point hanging around the cafeteria." She's being completely inane, but Marley's too invested now to backpedal. She's running on pure adrenaline from channeling Woman Fierce. "I have more time to help out, too, so she can take on larger jobs."

Quinn – who looks like she lives in the rich part of town and gets a weekly allowance that's bigger than the Roses' entire income – just smiles. "That sounds amazing. I think my mom is hosting some luncheons for her Rotary Club meetings or something; I'm sure she wouldn't mind ordering stuff from your mom. She hates the hassle of cooking for a party."

Marley takes out the tray from the fridge. "Well, see if you like it and we can talk business," she says, surprising even Woman Fierce with her boldness (and the little wink thrown on at the end). She may not be certain about a lot of things, but Marley always has complete faith in her mother's cooking.

Quinn reaches for the nearest canape – smoked salmon with cream cheese on a wholewheat cracker – and pops it into her mouth. As she chews, the expression on her face grows awed.

"These are incredible," she says.

Marley grins. "I'll pass your compliments to the chef." She reaches for the remote – the DVD menu screen has been looping in the background, almost forgotten – and presses Play. The screen fades to black as the movie starts; Marley settles on the couch a friendly distance from Quinn, absently popping a canape into her mouth.

"I love this movie," goes Quinn as the opening sequence plays. She reaches for another canape from the tray.

Marley releases a sigh of relief inaudibly. "I'm glad."

There's no further conversation. Quinn looks completely engrossed in the movie; Marley's torn between paying attention to the movie, and keeping an eye on the tray and Quinn's glass. A little voice in the back of her mind tells her she's reading too much into this, that she doesn't need to be on edge for someone she barely knows, much less needs to impress, but –

She pays it no mind. There'll be plenty of time to deal with that later.

Quinn stretches when the ending credits start to roll.

"That was great."

"Yeah, it gets me every time."

Quinn smiles, and inclines her head at the coffee table: "I was talking about the food, too," she adds.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"More than liked. Your mom's a fantastic cook." She pulls out her phone, and her smile drops a little. "Damn. I have to go. Sorry to run out like this."

"No problem." Quinn's already standing up, making for the door; Marley darts ahead of her so she can open it. "Thanks for stopping by."

Quinn's hazel eyes glint in the late summer sun. "I had a lot of fun today. Thanks for having me over to hang out. See you around, Marley."

"Bye."

She does this little hand wave, but Quinn's already getting into her car and misses it. The smile that's been plastered to Marley's face falters, but brightens again when Quinn waves to her as she pulls out of the driveway.

Mechanically, Marley tidies up the entire living room while her mind processes the afternoon. It seems unreal, that someone she's literally only known for a day would watch a movie with her; much less Quinn Fabray. She still has trouble reconciling the girl that was eating smoked salmon canapes in her living room used to order slushy attacks on fellow students.

Eventually, she decides not to read too much into it. Quinn was being polite, and had nothing better to do on a lazy summer afternoon.

* * *

Marley is supposed to be meeting Unique for lunch at the mall (her parents are away for the next few days, so she's taking full advantage of not having to be Wade) at noon. However, she's early because she had to help her mother deliver food for another party and it didn't make sense to go home and come out again. So, she's treating herself to an iced tea from the Lima Bean and a book from home, taking full advantage of the lull period in the day.

"Marley?"

She blinks. Quinn's standing in front of her. "Hey," she says, a little awkwardly.

"It's great to see you again." She nods at the table. "Um, are you waiting for someone?"

"Unique, actually – but that not for another hour. I'm just…" Marley holds up her book. "You're welcome to come sit down, if you don't mind me ignoring you. Trying to clear my backlog before I go off to college."

"God, I know, right?" Quinn nods in thanks as she sits down, pulling a book of her own out of her bag. "I'm already a college senior and there are books from my sophomore year of high school, still on my reading list. Where are you heading?"

"NYU. New York University." The news is a couple months old at this point, but Marley still feels that rush of pride and giddy excitement when she says the name.

Quinn definitely looks impressed. "Wow. That is an amazing school. Congrats. What are you thinking of majoring in?"

"I've got a full scholarship to study music production at Steinhardt," explains Marley, cheeks flushing a little. Somehow, it's a little embarrassing to tell Quinn that.

"That sounds like a great opportunity."

"Thanks." Just to fill the awkward gap, Marley asks: "Where do you go?"

"Yale," says Quinn, and Marley thinks she detects a hint of the same self-consciousness she feels. "I'm double majoring in English and business."

Marley's jaw drops. It's really not fair that someone so beautiful is just as brilliant, and she says so breathlessly before she can stop herself.

Pink tinges Quinn's cheeks. "Thanks," she says. She looks a little unsettled, such that Marley changes the subject (ungracefully) and asks about the book Quinn's reading. "Is that part of your reading list? I mean – I haven't read Joyce, but that doesn't seem like the kind of book a high school sophomore would willingly read."

Quinn's laughter, decides Marley, reminds her of a brook; bright, bubbly, and clear. "I'm not like most high school sophomores," she says, "but you're right; my roommate is an English Literature major and she wouldn't stop gushing about it to me. I promised her I'd read it on my summer break."

"Ah. That sounds cool."

"Honestly? I like yours better." Quinn nods at the battered copy of _Perks of Being a Wallflower_ on the table in front of Marley. "Swap?"

Marley laughs. Her earlier trepidation slowly gives way to a sense of ease. "I don't think I'll do any better with yours."

"It was worth a try." She fishes her purse out as well. "I need a drink. Can I get you anything else?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Marley tries to keep her eyes on the page – she does, really. But Quinn's movements are riveting. There is grace in every movement, no matter how mundane. She finally manages to look away when Quinn collects her drink from the barista and turns to come back to their table. She slips the receipt she's using as a bookmark into the book, shutting it when Quinn sits back down.

"You don't need to do that," says Quinn, looking at the closed book. "The whole point of us being out here is to read, after all. You don't have to feel obliged to make small talk."

"I don't mind." Marley blushes a little. "Uh, I meant that we haven't really talked before."

Quinn looks a little flushed too – maybe – but then she smiles. "You've got a point. Actually, I was planning on going over to your house later."

"What?"

She laughs. "It's not what you're thinking! I was in such a rush to leave the other day, I completely forgot to ask for your number. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"It's really not a problem," Marley replies, completely intrigued. "What did you want my number for?"

"I told my mom that your mom does catering," says Quinn. "She got really excited; apparently, she's throwing this summer party for her friends from church, and she wants it to be a bit classier than a usual barbeque gathering."

Marley's mouth drops open. "You didn't need to… thank you."

"I might have told her for selfish reasons. I've gotten spoilt by the food in New Haven, and the classiest thing Lima has is the Asian restaurant downtown."

"You're kidding me. How can my mom's food compare to avocado wraps?" jokes Marley.

"You'll be surprised."

They smile at each other. Marley checks the time on her phone, and her heart sinks a little. "I've got to go," she says, carefully bookmarking her page and gathering up her stuff. "I'm actually meeting a friend for lunch."

"Sure. Have a good day."

She has to take a few more deep breaths before she can turn around to ask: "Quinn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you… do you have anything planned for tomorrow night?"

Quinn closes her book to give Marley her full attention. "No. Why?"

"Well, I just thought… if you like my mom's cooking that much, you could come over for dinner or something. It wouldn't be any trouble, my mom's convinced there isn't anything to eat in New York, and there's always tons of food at home. She's trying out loads of recipes for easy-to-cook food too. You'd be doing us a favour, really…"

"I'd love to," interrupts Quinn gently. "What would be a good time?"

"Seven, maybe?" Marley pulls the number out of nowhere; she wasn't expecting Quinn to take her up on the offer.

"Okay. So I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright. See you." Her feet take her away on autopilot. Marley still can't believe that she's doing this much. She was definitely intimidated by Quinn Fabray as a skinny, awkward freshman in high school, but she's a high school graduate now. By right, she should be older, more mature, and far over this kind of thing.

Someone once said high school never ends. Marley thinks she might start to understand why.

It's easy to be intimidated by Quinn, really, even if she doesn't hold any real power over Marley now. She's strikingly beautiful, with a poise that commands respect and admiration in equal amounts. She's also unfailingly polite, with a charm that makes Marley fall over herself wanting to please her.

Marley laughs a little; it certainly explains the wild stories Brittany and Tina tell her about the love triangles of the senior batch. She should hang out with them sometime.

* * *

She made arrangements to meet Unique in the food court, in front of Cinnabon (she isn't overly fond of the buns herself because her mother makes the best cinnamon rolls, but Unique swears that the frosting has crack in it and that's the only reason she needs her weekly fix). By the time she gets there, she spots her best friend already seated at their usual table.

"Hey, Marl," says Unique, throwing her arms around her. "It's a bit strange that I'm earlier than you for once."

"Don't get used to it," retorts Marley, and they grin at each other. "I see you've gotten started without me," she adds, catching sight of the cinnamon bun on the plate in front of Unique, "I wasn't _that_ late."

Unique shoots her a look. "Yes, you were." She takes a delicate bite of her bun. "I'm expecting a full explanation."

"I was just reading and lost track of time."

"Uh-huh."

"What, don't you believe me?"

"Of course I believe you. I just don't believe you're telling me the full story."

Marley groans.

"Don't knock my womanly intuition," says Unique, and laughs raucously at the look on Marley's face. "Who was it? Jake? Sam?"

"What makes you think it was a guy?"

She cackles triumphantly. "I didn't. It was a lucky guess."

Marley fishes her purse out of her bag. "Can I get lunch first before the interrogation?"

"You exaggerate, but fine." Unique waves her off. "Get me a chicken wrap while you're up, thanks."

"Lazy bum."

"You love my butt, and that's why you're gonna keep it fed."

Marley laughs, and accepts the flying kiss blown her way graciously. To save her the hassle of worrying what she's going to eat, she gets herself a burrito from the same place as Unique, and returns to their table shortly. Unique doesn't pay her back; they have a standing arrangement this summer of taking turns to treat each other.

"So, spill."

"There's really nothing to spill," says Marley, taking a bite of her food. "I was talking to Quinn, and – "

"Quinn as in Quinn Fabray?" interrupts Unique, her eyes going wide. "Senior cheerleader and bitch extraordinaire?"

"She's a lot nicer than what Kitty says."

Unique's face instantly darkens. "I don't give a shit what Kitty says."

"Unique..."

"Marley, you're the nicest person on the planet. You can give Mother Teresa a run for her money. But you can't change my opinion of that bitch because of what she did to you."

Marley sighs. "I know. I appreciate it, but..."

"No defending her, or I walk," declared Unique. "This is a safe bitching space. And I'd love a reason to walk; I just got a new pair of killer heels."

Just like that, the tension between them dissipates. "Oooh, really? From where?"

Unique smiles slowly, like a cat that's gotten the cream. "Would you believe, Anthropologie?"

"No way."

"Yes way." Unique holds up a foot so Marley can inspect the white slingback. "Half price because it was a display item, and it's a little scuffed. A touch of wax, and you can't even see it."

Marley grins. "You're so going to knock them dead at Oberlin."

"That was never in doubt, girlfriend."

It reminds her that they'll be heading off to different places in a few short months. It must have shown on her face, because Unique reaches over to pat Marley's hand. "We'll still be best friends. There's Skype and phones and email. We're not in the Middle Ages."

"Yeah."

Unique delivers a playful slap in place of a pat; Marley yelps in surprise. "Now stop trying to distract me, and get back to it. You were talking to Quinn Fabray? What did she do? Threaten to slushie you?"

"Of course not!" says Marley indignantly. "She wanted to hire my mom to cater food for her mom's party."

"Oooh, scandalous."

Marley gives her friend a shove. "You're so full of it."

"And you, little miss Rose, are stalling. So that's it? You just talked to Quinn about your mom's catering business?"

Marley glances slyly at Unique. "We also hung out at my house last week."

Unique's mouth falls open. "And when were you planning on telling me, you bitch?"

"Now! I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

"You should've texted me the instant she left your house so I could have lived vicariously through your exploits, but I'm going to be generous and forgive you," said Unique. "So, what's going on with you and the head bitch? Are you guys friends now?"

Marley took a thoughtful bite of her food. "I... don't know. It's a bit weird that we're even talking this much, because she's three years older and has a different group of friends. It's almost like she's my older sister or something. It's a little intimidating, honestly."

"But she's been nice to you?"

"The nicest," says Marley fervently.

"Then I say go for it." Unique slurps down the last of her soda. "You'll be in different cities come September. There's plenty more people in New York, and you won't run into her until maybe next year? Unless one of you moves out of this hellhole." She narrows her eyes abruptly. "You sure she treats you right?"

"Yeah."

The look softens. "Okay. Y'know, you could do a lot worse that having Quinn Fabray as a friend. She has her good points. Or maybe you..." Unique drops her voice, "like _like_ her."

Marley's face instantly flames. "Unique!" she squeaks.

"It's a possibility!" Unique defends herself. "I know we don't talk about _that_ incident –"

"We just did."

"– semantics," says Unique airily, "but as your BFF, I reserve the right to be overly invested in your personal life. Jake and Ryder were _such_ a let-down – but still _so_ hot – and maybe it would do you some good to be exploring that side of you. I read somewhere that NYU has a pretty active LGBT dating scene..."

She drops her face in her hands to hide her blush. "Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because you love me, and you need me to bring out the diva deep inside you."

Marley stares.

"Deep, _deep_ , inside you," amends Unique, who then throws an arm around her, squeezing briefly. "Okay, no more teasing. High school's over and done with, and this new Quinn sounds pretty nice. You don't have anything to lose hanging out with her – as long as you don't stand me up, and you tell me every little detail about her."

"Actually…"

Unique's eyes open wide again, and she gasps. "Marley Rose!"

"She's coming to my place for dinner tomorrow night."

"You move fast."

"I resent that implication."

* * *

She goes home a little earlier than usual the next day to help her mother prepare. Millie's overjoyed more by the fact that her daughter has a friend over for dinner, and less that it's a potential customer. "You rarely bring friends home," she says excitedly. The knife in her hands expertly scores the skin of a chicken thigh. "Meetin' them in school don't count."

Marley's been charged with vegetable-chopping duty. She has her eyes focused on her work, and thus her mother doesn't see the trepidation on her face.

A place like McKinley High, where popular kids throw icy drinks at less-popular kids and the teachers don't do anything to stop it, is hardly going to be kind to a kid whose mother is the lunchlady. Only some of the Glee kids have met Marley's mother, and in passing. Ryder, in particular, stopped by to help out when he was trying to get Marley's attention (that's another thing she hates; when people use her mother to get to her). He stopped when he lost interest in her.

In hindsight, she's just invited the pinnacle of the social hierarchy to the bottom. Marley wonders if it's a bad idea. She should just call Quinn and take a raincheck; or better yet, cancel altogether.

"You got your worried face on." Millie washes her hands, wiping them on her apron, and comes over to Marley. "What's eatin' you, sweetheart?"

She makes a face. Marley knows better than to lie to her mother, but it doesn't make the truth any more palatable. "I'm having second thoughts about inviting Quinn over. It's dumb, I know."

From the way her mouth twists, her mother guesses the truth. "That girl's not in high school no more," says Millie gently, in a way that lets Marley know she's been forgiven. "You wouldn't have invited her here if you di'n't trust her. Right?"

"Right."

"And I trust your intuition, Marley. I know you'd never bring someone over that you didn't think I'd be comfy with. Us Roses stick together." Her mother bumps her elbow with her own. Marley laughs. "Anythin' else botherin' you?"

"Nope."

"Good. 'Cause those veggies ain't choppin' themselves." Millie kisses her daughter's cheek, and resumes her work; after a moment, Marley does the same.

* * *

Towards seven, Marley begs off cooking duty to go shower and find the perfect outfit for dinner. She's not about to present herself to Quinn all sweaty and smelling of celery.

At seven sharp, the doorbell rings. "Marley!" yells Millie from the kitchen.

Marley clatters down the stairs, heart in her throat, and she skids to a halt right behind the door. "It's just dinner," she recites to herself. Before she can lose her nerve again, she opens the door.

Her dinner guest is wearing a pastel yellow dress, belted at the waist, a denim jacket rolled up at the elbows, and a radiant smile. "Hi," says Quinn. "I brought wine. I hope that's okay?"

"Of course!" She steps aside so Quinn can come in, and shuts the door behind her. "You didn't have to bring anything, though. It's not like this is a date, or… y'know." Marley keeps her face still as she mentally kicks herself.

"But I'm your guest." Quinn seems not to notice the minor mental breakdown Marley's experiencing as she walks towards the dining room, following the enticing smells wafting from the kitchen.

By the time Marley's composed herself, she finds Quinn and her mother chatting like old friends in the kitchen. It's quite clear that Quinn is attempting to help Millie set the table, something the older woman won't have from her guest of honour. "Marley!" says her mother upon catching sight of her. "'bout time you got here. Get Miss Fabray to sit down and get her somethin' to drink." With that, she turned to Quinn, all charm again. "What d'you want, dear? We have lemonade, or some milk if you'd like."

"I'd really like to help, Mrs. Rose; it's only fair, after all, since you've gone to all this trouble just for dinner." She flashes that Quinn Fabray smile; Millie smiles back, seemingly utterly charmed. Quinn takes advantage of that to whisk the serving bowl of salad towards the dining room.

Marley – who's still feeling rather weak at the knees herself from that smile – recovers enough to dash after Quinn. "Seriously, it's fine," she says, tugging the serving bowl out of Quinn's hands. It helps that she's a little taller. "What d'you want to drink?"

"Do you have more of that lemonade? It was pretty good." She lets Marley sit her down with a tall glass while Marley darts back to the kitchen to help her mother. Millie's made far too much in her zeal to entertain one of the few friends Marley's brought home over the years.

Quinn makes all the appropriately impressed sounds as dish after dish is brought to the table. "Mrs Rose, this is too much."

Millie beams. "Call me Millie, honey. An' it's fine; we don't get many dinner guests. I've been waitin' for an excuse to go all out."

Quinn eats everything on her plate, much to Marley's surprise – they _did_ make far too much. She even manages a generous slice of pineapple upside-down cake, Millie's signature dessert. The praise doesn't stop throughout dinner, and the older woman is positively pink with pleasure from all the compliments.

Marley doesn't eat that much, her stomach still fluttering with nerves. She still can't believe that she has _Quinn Fabray_ in her house, sitting at her table and eating dinner, talking with her mom as though she's known her for years.

Millie won't hear a word of Quinn helping with the clean-up; she shoos them both out of the kitchen and upstairs to Marley's room, "to do whatever you girls usually do".

Marley's mortified, of course; only Unique's been up here before. Jake doesn't even know where she lives. Yet Quinn stands in the middle of the room, admiring the various posters and photos adorning the walls. "You're a Marina and the Diamonds fan," she says, nodding at the poster, "awesome."

"Thanks." She motions at the bed and its assortment of patchwork blankets and pillows. "You can sit if you want." For the first time, she feels self-conscious about how shabby her bed is, and blushes.

Amusement colours Quinn's face, and she sits down primly. Crossing her feet at the ankles, she leans back on her elbows. "Well?"

Marley jolts. "Huh?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side. "Aren't you gonna sit down either? It is _your_ bed."

"Uh, I'm fine." She finds a spot to lean against her dresser, doing her best to lean against it casually.

The amusement on Quinn's face colours with mild exasperation. "Marley," says Quinn, getting up from the bed and walking over to her; the motion startles the younger girl, who stumbles a bit. "Relax. You have got to take me down from whatever pedestal you've got me on."

Marley blushes furious scarlet. "I, uh, don't know what you mean."

Quinn rests her fingers on the back of Marley's hand. "You're fine," she says patiently. "You don't need to try so hard to impress me."

"I-I'm not…" She gets a single arched eyebrow, and deflates. "I just… you're pretty intimidating."

"Funny," says Quinn, almost conversationally, "most people stop at the pretty part." She moves to the side so she's elbow to elbow with Marley. The younger girl sneaks a glance at Quinn, who now appears to be staring intently at the ceiling.

"... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. What are you even sorry for?" replies Quinn. She doesn't look at Marley.

"I've just… I hardly know you. All I know is whatever Kitty says, and the other seniors talk about past Glee performances." She ducks her head. "I don't understand why someone like you would want to be friends with someone like me."

When the silence stretches too long, Marley chances a look at Quinn, to find her regarding her carefully. "I've learned a lot about making friends after high school," says Quinn cryptically, "like how the best people are found in the places you don't expect them to be." After a pause, she smiles suddenly. "I think you're an interesting person to get to know, Marley. Plus, your mom makes the best rosemary chicken I've ever eaten."

A surprised laugh escapes Marley before she can respond properly.

Quinn's expression sobers, and she lightly bumps Marley with her elbow; after a while, Marley bumps back. "So," she starts tentatively, "do you wanna see my books?"

"I'd love to."

* * *

Quinn lingers on the doorstep; Marley tries not to stare at the shiny black Mini Cooper parked on her street. It's a far cry from the ancient Ford she shares with her mother. She has a large box containing a pineapple upside-down cake in her hands – courtesy of Millie Rose – to take home for Judy Fabray.

"So…"

Marley leans in the doorway, trying to look casual. "So?"

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

She thinks about the book she's about to finish, and the copy of _Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore_ she's just gotten out from the library waiting to be cracked open. "Uh, just reading."

The corners of Quinn's lips pull up in a smile. "Perfect, so am I. Want to meet at The Lima Bean tomorrow afternoon? Unless…" The smile dips a bit. "You've got other plans?"

"I can definitely make tomorrow afternoon," Marley reassures her.

* * *

She practically bounces down the stairs the next morning, excited for the afternoon. She's supposed to be helping her mother frost chocolate cupcakes for the Millers' daughter's birthday party, so that's her morning full.

"Mornin', Marl." There are pancakes on the table – her favourite breakfast food. Millie slides the last batch onto a plate and puts that in front of Marley. "You look cheerful. Big day today?"

"Not really." After a moment's hesitation, she puts a tiny bit of butter on her pancakes; Millie scowls and puts the whole pat on. "I'm just meeting Quinn at the mall later."

"That's nice. She's a really nice girl, sweetheart; I'm glad you two are friends." Millie sips her coffee. "You went to the same high school, didn't you?"

"She was a senior in my freshman year, yeah."

"She seein' anyone?"

"Mom!"

Millie shrugs. "Gorgeous young lady like that, I'll bet she spends most of her time beatin' the boys off with a stick."

"I don't know." She's only known Quinn for all of three days, including the first conversation they had, years ago – that Quinn seems to have forgotten. Truth be told, she's glad for that; whatever they are now, Marley wants to start on a blank page. She's Marley Rose, former high school senior and soon-to-be-official NYU freshman, and not Marley, the constantly nervous and perpetually hungry sophomore.

Her mother chuckles. "Well, all in good time. I hope you'll invite her over again sometime before you girls go off to college."

Marley chews on her lower lip. She's been dreading leaving for a while now. "Sure, mom."

"That's my girl. Now eat up before that gets cold. I expect you to get seconds, 'cause we've got a lot of them cupcakes to frost."

She sighs.

* * *

Marley closes _Perks of a Wallflower_ with a small sigh. She loves finishing a book; the slight discombobulation of returning to her own world, the pang of regret that it's over.

Quinn looks over at her. "Good book?"

"The best." She tucks it into her backpack. The battered pages and faded cover are a testament to how beloved the book is. "How's yours going?"

"Better than expected," says Quinn. "I wasn't expecting to be this into it, but I'm starting to get Joyce."

Marley nods. She loves reading, but she doesn't think she's into literature. It sounds too highbrow. The next book comes out of her bag. She's been looking forward to reading _Mr Penumbra_ ever since reading a few glowing reviews online; it's the main reason she reads halfway through the first chapter before noticing Quinn's amused eyes on her.

"I've been calling your name for the past five minutes. That must be pretty riveting."

Marley's cheeks colour. "I've been looking forward to reading this book for a while. The local library only has one copy, and I was on the waiting list for a while." She holds up the book so Quinn can read the back of the dust jacket. Marley doesn't just hand it over to Quinn because she's itching to get back to reading; something she fervently hopes Quinn doesn't deduce.

Quinn nods. "It looks really interesting. How is it so far?"

"It's great!"

"Sounds great. I think I should add that to my list too." She pulls out her phone to make a note.

* * *

There was a party being held at Noah Puckerman's house that Saturday, and Marley had been invited.

The trouble was, she didn't want to go. She'd been acquainted with the older Puckerman via Kitty (whose other favourite topic of conversation apart from Quinn was whatever guy she was dating), and she'd had her own on-and-off relationship with Jake Puckerman. One Puckerman boy was bad enough; when both of them banded together to throw a party, the sensible response was to hunker down and wait for the whole thing to blow over.

Unfortunately, her best friend knew her too well, and Unique had come over to her house to fish her out.

"Come on, it won't be as bad as you're probably imagining right now," she tells Marley, already tossing potential outfits onto Marley's bed. "Ryder will be there; so will Tina and Sam."

She perks up – she's missing her friends already – though tries not to let Unique see. "And what does that have to do with me going to the party?"

"You need to hang out with people your own age," says Unique, and promptly gets a pillow to the face.

"Not funny."

"I wasn't joking. Here, how about this?" She holds up a simple green top with puffed sleeves that Marley vaguely remembers was an acquisition from a flea market; one of the few pieces of clothing she owns that isn't homemade or from a thrift store. "With your black skinny jeans, if you want. I hope you don't; it's sweltering."

"I'm not that prudish," Marley defends herself.

"Girl, I never said you were." Unique tosses the top at her. "No violent objections? Put it on, then I'll help you do your hair and makeup." She pulls out a compact case packed with cosmetic products; Wade gets a generous allowance which Unique spends on pretty things.

Marley pouts. It's a low blow, but it's one of the last weapons left in her arsenal, and it happens to be particularly effective on Unique. "Do I really have to go?"

Unique sighs, mascara wand poised. "Babe, it's our last summer before we all go off on our separate ways. You to the Big Apple, me to Oberlin… this is our last chance to enjoy being us."

She rubs at her elbow awkwardly. Unique, she knows, is dying to get away from her parents – even if it's only a two-hour drive out of town – because she can leave Wade at home. She'll be a long way from everyone on the East Coast in the big city. "You're right," she concedes. "I'm sorry I'm being a wet blanket."

Unique perks up immediately. "Wonderful," she says, and points at a pair of sneakers. "Wear those if you decide on denim shorts."

Marley rolls her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

They make it out of the house in half an hour ("Have fun, girls!" shouts Millie from the couch) and into the car for the short drive to Noah Puckerman's house. The yard's already packed with Glee kids, old and new; Marley's stomach roils uneasily.

She feels Unique's hand on hers. "We'll stick with each other, okay? Get a few drinks, talk with people we know. If you're bored out of your mind by eleven, we'll bail and go back to your place for _Gossip Girl_ and popcorn?"

Marley smiles in spite of herself. "You say the sweetest things." She gets out of the car and follows Unique into the house – the front door isn't even closed. Her friend rings the doorbell as she enters anyway.

Noah Puckerman materialises in the hallway. "Unique! Lookin' good, babe," he slurs, wearing a T-shirt – that has the slogan ' **Who's Your Daddy?** ' printed across the chest in neon letters – cargo shorts, and his most lecherous grin. "And 'lil Marley Rose too!" he adds, placing a hand on his heart when he catches sight of her. "I should give you a special Puckasaurus-style drink for doing us a public service, Unique. This party always needs more chicks." Leering, he leans close to kiss her cheek – hands already roving.

She shrugs off Puck's hands expertly; both girls are familiar with him because he had the habit of tagging along with Kitty, and Unique's dealt with his brand of concern plenty of times. "Hi, Puck. Hands off the goods, we're barely legal; and if you or Jake dare make my girl a drink, I'll scratch your balls off." She presents an elegantly manicured hand for inspection.

He winces. "Ouch, babe. Message received." Puck mimes being shot in the chest, but hands them both wine coolers and waves in the general direction of the backyard. No one's actually in the pool yet (Marley's certain they will be eventually, once they get drunk enough). They quickly spot Ryder hanging around at the fringe.

"Looking good, 'Nique," says Ryder, kissing her cheek. "Hey, Marley."

"Hey, Ry."

Apart from him, the rest of the party seems composed of people Marley vaguely knows as being from Puck's year, though she doesn't know any of them by name. Some sport Lima Community College shirts that tell her they're definitely able to attend because they never left town.

"Where're the others?"

Ryder jerks his head back at the house. "Jake's in there with Puck. Something about beer pong."

"Boys," says Kitty, who has suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Her hand curls around Ryder's bicep. "Hey, Ryder. Unique. Marley."

"Kitty," says Marley curtly. Unique just nods.

Ryder seems to sense the thick tension that surrounds the three girls. "So, uh, I'm just gonna go join the guys," he says, grinning and jerking his head back at the house. "Catch up with you guys later."

"Mmhmm." Kitty doesn't even look at his rapidly retreating back. Her eyes are trained on Marley.

Then Quinn walks in, and Marley blinks rapidly. "Quinn?"

Her face clouds over, then brightens with recognition. "Marley? You didn't mention you were coming."

In the background, Kitty looks positively green with envy that she's on such familiar terms with her idol.

"That's because I wasn't planning on it." She shoots a dirty look Unique's way, who just shrugs. "Unique dragged me out of the house."

"Quinn!" Kitty squeals. "I didn't know you'd be here!" She not-so-subtly elbows past Marley and Unique so she can be the closest to Quinn.

Quinn laughs. "That's because I was dragged out, too." She nods over to the far end of the backyard, where a group of people are clustered; Finn stands out, figuratively and literally, talking to someone who's completely hidden from Marley's point of view. "She ditched me the moment we got here."

"She?"

"Rachel."

"Oh." It occurs to Marley then that she has yet to meet Quinn's best friend – formally, of course. All she has are anecdotes and stories (half of which she hopes aren't true). But then Kitty commandeers the conversation with an accounting of how the Cheerios have performed in that past year. Marley, recognising one of Kitty's monologues when she sees one, lets Unique tug her away after a nod to Quinn.

"That was close." Unique inspects her nails. "I didn't want to have to shed blood at a nice party like this. I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness for Quinn Fabray." She holds up her drink expectantly.

Marley sighs. "I'd drink to that," she says, tapping her wine cooler to Unique's.

"I really thought she'd be different after, y'know, but seems like you really can't change a leopard's spots."

"Whatever happened with her was a mistake." Marley frowns down at her unopened bottle.

"Oh, hey, girls." Sam – grinning, beautifully oblivious Sam – comes out of nowhere to straddle the gap between the girls' chairs. "What's wrong, Marley?"

"Too much to drink," says Unique smoothly, snagging Marley's wine cooler to hand it to him. There's a glare shot her way, but Marley accepts the reprieve gracefully.

He tuts but happily accepts the drink. "Ah. Feel better." Sam rubs her shoulder.

Sam and Unique start chatting about their post-high school plans; Sam is talking enthusiastically about joining Kurt, Rachel, Santana, and Blaine in New York.

Sam is an incredibly sweet guy. She knows from him that the Glee girls of her batch are much more tight-knit than Quinn's batch – though he has no idea just how tight-knit they really are. She glances over at Kitty – still talking to Quinn, though the older girl's face is hidden from view – and decides to go find Tina.

"Sam? Do you know if Tina's here?"

"Oh, yep. She's watching the beer pong tournament inside."

"Thanks." She stands, smiles at them – and is promptly attacked by an excited Brittany. "Marley!" she squeals. "Ryder said you were here and I almost didn't believe him because he once told me that Lord Tubbington ate my English homework when I couldn't find it, but that's just silly, 'cause cats don't eat paper. Tubbs only uses paper to write math problems on." She takes a breath, and then beams at Marley. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hi, Brittany." She squeezes back, almost as enthusiastically. Talking to Brittany is easy as long as she doesn't try to make sense of everything that Brittany says. "How are things?"

"Excellent!" she chirps. "Now you're here, we can do that Spice Girls song."

The smile slips off Marley's face. "... What."

"Like, we wanted to do it before, but you weren't there." Too late, Brittany has a vice grip on her wrist, and is dragging her further into the backyard towards the… stage?

"Sugar and Rachel pestered Puck to set one up for all the summer parties," explained Brittany nonchalantly. Tina's already there, looking torn between misery and resignation. She offers Marley a grimace.

Their impromptu opening act is greeted with raucous cheers (more so when a very tipsy Brittany forgets the choreography and just starts twerking onstage). The other Glee kids jump at the chance to stage a medley of old performances, and Marley takes the opportunity to slip away. She makes a stop in the Puckerman kitchen to grab a drink, settling for a hard lemonade (she was originally planning on a soda, but over the summer she's developed a taste for lemonade) and wanders off in search of a quiet place to enjoy her drink.

The porch out front has an old-fashioned swing seat which reminds her of the one she has at home. It would be the perfect seat – except it's already occupied. The creak of the swing is audible from inside, someone with blonde hair seated on it.

The creaking stops. "Whoever that is, if you could kindly fuck off, that would be great," says a familiar voice.

"Oh," says Marley. "I'm sorry. I'll just go, then."

"Marley?" says a familiar voice. "No, it's okay. You can stay." There's an edge to Quinn's voice that pulls Marley closer.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" She's tenser than a wound spring, made apprehensive by the reemergence of the bitch Quinn used to be, but still determined to be there for her friend. "Do you… wanna talk about it?"

Quinn sneers. "No, I just like sitting alone in the dark while a party's going on."

"... oh."

Quinn sighs. "Sorry," she says, the sarcasm gone from her voice. "I'm working on that."

"I'll accept your apology, if you tell me what's bothering you." Even when they're barely friends, Marley gets the sense that Quinn's a work in progress, and she's still learning that not everything's out to get her.

"Puck happened."

"Puck?" Her opinion of him plummets instantly. "Did he hurt you?"

Quinn shakes her head. "God, no. Nothing like that. As thought I'd be fucking stupid to let that asshole near me again, after… he just said some stupid things, that's all."

Marley hands her her lemonade. Quinn takes a sip, then another.

"He asked me about my friendship with Rachel. Went about it in the completely wrong way; he was pulling this protective fellow Jew bullshit, thinking I'm only nice to her for some selfish reasons, or using her to get to Beth through Shelby."

Marley doesn't know who Beth is or get what Beth has to do with Rachel, and vaguely recalls Shelby as Ms. Corcoran, the teacher for the other Glee club last year. "... okay?"

"Oh. Right, you don't know. I'm sorry." Quinn takes a hard pull of the bottle, and continues: "I went off the rails a bit at the start of senior year of high school. I'd given up my baby to Shelby Corcoran – Rachel's biological mother – and I had this crazy idea that getting her back would fix everything that went wrong in my life."

She studies Quinn's side profile carefully. It's too dark on the porch to see her expression clearly, but she knows enough about her friend to note the tension in her posture, and guess that her grip on the lemonade is white-knuckled. She wonders if Quinn would appreciate being touched in this moment.

"That was then. I dropped the idea, I got out of here, went to college… then I come back, years later, and it's as though nothing's changed." Quinn sounds bitter. "He talked to me like I hadn't spent the past three years growing up and gaining a new perspective on the world outside this small town – like he still knows me. He spent all those years stuck in here."

"Puckerman boys are tools," says Marley.

Quinn laughs. "Tool is one word for it."

Marley takes a chance. She finds Quinn's knee in the gloom, squeezing briefly. "You're right; he doesn't know you. I wish he hadn't spoken to you as though he did, though."

Quinn stays silent. Eventually, Marley feels Quinn gently prying her fingers off her knee, and holding her hand. They share the companionable silence, trading the lemonade between their free hands until it's empty.

Eventually, Quinn asks in a throaty voice: "Sorry. For just unloading like that. Were you enjoying the party?"

"Not really. Parties aren't really my thing." She'd always thrown up right before she performed any solos onstage, to the point Kitty sarcastically dubbed them her own pre-show ritual. Her nervousness was a major factor in her decision to study music production, so she'd still be involved in music, albeit behind the scenes.

"Me neither," replies Quinn. The lemonade bottle, now empty, gets put down on the wood deck. "I had to go to all the big ones, of course, but for the sake of keeping up appearances."

She nods. She's never been popular, but she understands.

"Thanks for listening. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find Rachel. No offence."

"None taken. Of course." She feels Quinn squeeze her hand, then let go. Marley stays on the swing, rocking it with the ball of her foot against the deck, listening to the sounds of the party. It's far too dark to read, but it doesn't stop Marley from wishing she'd brought a book. She can picture herself being out here on a hot summer afternoon with a good book and a pitcher of her mom's homemade fruit punch.

Her phone trills, ruining the image. Marley answers because it's Unique. "Hey Marl, where're you?"

"Out front. Why?"

"Checkin' on you. It's eleven. Do you wanna bail?" Even through the noise of the party, Marley can still hear the hopeful tone to her best friend's voice.

"Nah. I'm good. Go have fun, sweetie. I've only had one hard lemonade so far, I'm good to drive later."

"You're the best." Unique makes kissy noises over the line. "Come here so I can kiss you."

"Give me five."

With one last smacking kiss, Unique hangs up. Sighing, Marley tucks her phone back into her pocket and tips her head back against the bench. From the sound of it, the party's in full swing, and she'll need to be careful when she makes her way into the throng.

She enters the house, bottle in her hand (the empty one from earlier, filled with water from the kitchen tap); thus armed, Marley's ready. Pounding music throbs her eardrums. She tries not to wince.

The living room furniture's been cleared to the corners so there's a makeshift dance floor. She spots Kitty and Jake somewhere in the mass of bodies, but no Unique, so she moves on. Outside, there are drunk people in the pool, as predicted. A shirtless Ryder (surprisingly) is among them.

Finally, she spots her best friend in the corner of the backyard near the stage, with Sugar and Tina. "You made it!" beams Unique, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "How was the jungle?"

Marley gives her a side-eye glance. "No comment," she says, then squeals when Unique plants a messy kiss on her cheek. Her best friend musses up her hair before she can squirm free. "'Nique!" she protests, laughing.

"You love me."

"Reconsidering it."

* * *

Marley wakes up bright and early the next morning, despite the late hour which she finally got to bed. Unique's still snoring faintly beside her (she was already pushing her luck yesterday by leaving the house as Unique, so there's no way she can go home like that) which means she's on breakfast duty.

It's early enough that her mother isn't downstairs yet. Marley gets the coffee machine started, and fishes ingredients out of the fridge. The meats are first; bacon and ham sizzling in the pan as she puts together the dry ingredients for pancakes.

"Mornin', sweetheart." Millie appears in her worn-out dressing gown.

"Morning, Mom." She kisses Millie's cheek, and hands her a mug of black coffee.

"There's my good girl," says Millie, pleased. "Did you have a good time last night, sweetie? What time did y'girls get home?"

"Alright, I guess." She tips the meats onto three plates, and cracks a few eggs in; Marley sets another pan on the stove for her pancakes. "We just played Twister and watched DVDs. Unique and I came home around midnight." For all that Marley hates lying to her mother, she's learned that half-truths are better than brutal honesty; there was a game going on when a very drunk Puck had pulled the board out of his closet, and _Top Gun_ played on loop, unwatched. She'd talked Unique out of body shots, and got them home just before one in the morning.

"Sounds fun. Nothin' else happened? Were there any cute boys there?"

"I guess? Jake and Ryder were there? I don't like either of them that anymore though," Marley adds hastily. She adds a golden-brown pancake to the platter.

"Shame. No one new catch your eye, sweetie?"

"Nope."

Millie chuckles. "Maybe that's a blessin' in disguise," she says, "seein' that you'll be out of this small town in a couple of months." And even though she's still smiling, Marley sees that smile dim a little; there's a lump in her own throat.

It's always been just the two of them for as long as she can remember. Marley knows the separation will be toughest on her mother – between classes and new friends, she won't even have time to miss home – when she's alone in the house. She's still excited for New York, of course, and Millie's practically bursting with pride; but it's hard. She puts an arm around her mother's shoulders, her head pressed to the top of Millie's.

Unique chooses that moment to come shuffling into the kitchen, barely stifling a yawn. "Just in time!" says Millie, overly bright. She breaks away from Marley, eyes shiny. "How many pancakes do you want, dear?"

* * *

They're out for ice cream because Quinn had a craving and Marley didn't have anything better to do, so they're sprawled in Quinn's car, the seats reclined nearly all the way. Quinn's place is deserted at this hour, the A/C is on full blast and so is the radio; Marley thinks this is what summer memories are made of.

"Rachel's going back to New York tomorrow."

"So soon?" It's only July, and Marley herself isn't due to travel there until the middle of August; she figures two weeks is enough time to move into her dorm, find a job, and get ready for college.

"She signed up for a summer workshop. Something about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with some of the stage's greatest luminaries." The phrasing is verbose, very unlike Quinn, so she guesses she's relating Rachel's words verbatim. "Who are we to stand in the way of stardom?"

Marley giggles.

"And you? When are you headed to the Big Apple?" Quinn sucks a stray dribble of ice cream off a knuckle.

"Mid-August," she replies. Her ice cream suddenly feels leaden in her stomach.

"Not long now."

"Nope."

Quinn finishes her ice cream and fishes in the glove compartment for a napkin. "Excited? Rachel and Kurt were practically frothing at the mouth when they were applying for NYADA."

"Yeah, definitely, but…" Marley pauses to think. "Scared too. It's the first time I'll be away from home, and my mom. I mean, I know most people're worry about being on their own at college, but I'm okay with that." She snags a napkin. "It's inevitable, but that doesn't make it any easier."

Quinn nods. "I know what you mean."

"It's just been the two of us as far as I can remember, moving wherever she got a job. It's gonna be weird being on my own in a new city."

"Mmm." She tucks her trash in the side compartment of the car before turning her head in Marley's direction. "Yeah. It was just me and my mom for a while before I left for college. Frannie – my older sister – was Daddy's little girl, so she hardly ever talked to us." Quinn snorts. "I was never close to her, growing up. She's got this perfect life in Minnesota now, with her perfect husband and the dream house with its white picket fence."

"Oh." Honestly, she can't tell if Frannie is a sore point with Quinn or not. She's an only child of a single mom, and sibling relationships have always fascinated her; Sam and his kid brother and sister, Brittany and her sister. There's a genuine affection veneered over with hate.

Quinn sighs. "I didn't get along with my mom until recently. I guess I couldn't forgive my mom for her part in kicking me out. She just… she stood there, and watched my father set the timer on the microwave for me to pack my things and get out," she mimics hefting a bag over her shoulder, "and took me back after she'd kicked him out for cheating. Then it was like we were strangers co-existing in the same house."

"What changed?"

Her friend starts, and chuffs a laugh. "God, I need a cigarette for this," she says, "or a drink. It was… I nearly died in a car wreck."

Although she's had time to digest this, it still catches in Marley's throat.

"The doctors said it was touch and go for a while," continues Quinn nonchalantly, "but in the end I was fine. I had to be in a wheelchair for a while but rehab was successful. I danced at Nationals."

"Oh my god." She feels a warm hand on hers, and blinks, looking up into Quinn's eyes.

"... I'm sorry." Quinn squeezes her hand. "I try and get it all out quick so I don't dwell on it too long. It is a bit much."

Marley tries to sound casual. "I'll say." She smiles quickly, in what she hopes is as reassuring as possible. "You went through a lot."

"Mmmhmm. The stuff of teenage drama." Her tone is incredibly dry.

Then a thought flits into Marley's mind. "Wait. You said Rachel's leaving tomorrow? You're not – you're hanging out with me."

Quinn laughs. "You don't have to put it that way. Also, it's not like New Haven and New York are so far away. Rachel and I have a yearly tradition of buying each other Metro passes so we can keep in touch. We have plenty of opportunities to see each other."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh," Quinn gently mocks. "You'll be in New York soon as well, Little Miss NYU."

"Yeah." Her stomach feels a little uneasy at the thought.

"We'll all be in the same area – I'm in New York fairly often. Maybe we could meet up to sit in some nondescript coffee place to read and complain about life," says Quinn, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

Marley considers it. She weighs the coursework and her inevitable student part time job against all the stories she's heard about college life. "That would… that'll be nice."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Chapter title comes from _I'm a Ruin_ by Marina and the Diamonds.


	3. Part Two

**Part Two:** _spare you the rising storms and let the rivers flow_

* * *

To celebrate the end of Marley's first year of college (and her impending graduation), Quinn's offered to take her out for dinner. All good and fine with Marley, until Quinn calls with an unexpected addendum.

"How long will you be in New York for?"

"Another week or so." She has a few loose ends to tie up, and then she's applying for long-term leave at her job; they aren't keen on letting her hand in a resignation for such a trivial reason as the summer holidays.

"Oh, great. I'll be in town next Friday to meet Rachel; it'll be great if you could join us. I'd like you to meet her."

"In Lima?" asks Marley.

Quinn laughs at her. "No, silly; in New York."

"But you're in New Haven."

"There are such things as trains, y'know. Give me a moment…" And there's rustling sounds over the phone. "My train gets into Grand Central next Friday afternoon. How about coffee that day, and dinner after?"

And so she finds herself, in the last week of her freshman year of college, walking through the Bronx in the company of Quinn.

"Rachel only stops by Lima briefly; she's always working and attending workshops during the summer," explains Quinn with a roll of her eyes as she expertly leads Marley through the streets. "She moves too fast for me to introduce you guys."

"I sort of know Rachel," offers Marley. The seniors had mentioned the 'new Rachel' title to her in her first year of Glee, as did the creepy guy Jacob ben-Israel. Based off that, and the few times she's seen Rachel, Marley knows what she looks like and that she can sing – and little else. "Really short, and the main reason Glee club's ever won anything."

(Of course, there's Quinn's stories. She won't let that influence her idea of Rachel.)

Quinn laughs. "That's essentially Rachel."

They stop outside a nondescript coffeeshop on a street corner. "We're a minute late," says Quinn, checking the time on her phone, "she's probably already waiting inside."

Sure enough, there's a young woman who looks vaguely familiar seated inside. On spotting them, she squeals Quinn's name, stands up, and throws her arms around Quinn's neck. "It's been too long!" she gushes after she finally pulls away. "You must be Marley! It's good to see you, I've heard so much about you from Quinn!"

"Hi, Rachel." She hovers, uncertain, until Rachel pulls her into a tight hug. Marley squeezes back.

"I feel kinda old now that I have Glee juniors joining me in New York," quips Rachel when they're all seated.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "We're graduating from college in a couple of weeks, Rach; that's kind of inevitable."

Rachel narrows her eyes at Quinn. "Nevertheless," she says, addressing Marley, "I'm proud to be able to impart knowledge and experience I've gained over the last few years to you, in order to enrich your college experience."

Marley blinks. She's never actually known anyone who talks like they swallowed a book; belatedly, she corrects herself. She's simply forgotten Rachel Berry is one such person.

"You're scaring her," chides Quinn. She draws her purse from her bag. "I'm getting a drink. Coming, Marley?"

"Yeah. Hang on a bit." She fishes her money out and follows Quinn to the counter.

The older girl bumps her with an elbow lightly. "Are you okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Quinn smiles. "It's okay to be honest. Rachel tends to intimidate people, especially if you aren't prepared for what she's like. She's... intense."

"That was pretty evident," jokes Marley.

By the time they return to the table, drinks in hand, Rachel has a sheaf of paper and a highlighter out. Her mouth moves as she reads. Occasionally, she marks a line with the highlighter.

"Another project?"

"Drama bootcamp," says Rachel, not looking up, "seven plays in fourteen days. It's hell."

"Glad you can make time for us little people," remarks Quinn.

She makes a mark at the bottom of the page and then tucks the script away. "Always, Quinn," she says without a hint of sarcasm. Turning to Marley, Rachel smiles widely. "How are you finding New York so far?"

"I love it." It's an easy question. As a small-town girl, Marley has held the requisite dreams of bright lights and big cities growing up. Even as she grew, her interests shifting to accommodate reality and changing tastes, there's something about the fond nostalgia of childhood fantasies that appeal to her. Getting into Steinhardt was the first step of reconciling her childhood dreams and adult abilities.

Although her rose-coloured vision's faded around the edges after an actual year of college, Marley's proud to say it's still everything she's ever dreamed off.

Rachel beams wider – Marley didn't think it possible. "Wonderful! If you've got nothing planned this weekend, I'd love to show you around. Have you done the practically-compulsory tourist attractions? Iconic as they are, I wonder if you'd like to see some of my favourite places."

"Let her breathe, Rach," says Quinn teasingly. "She's been here for a year already; what makes you think she hasn't already done the touristy things?"

"Actually…" ventures Marley, "I've been so busy with school and work, I haven't done much." Marley can't help but be caught up in Rachel's love for the city. "I'd appreciate a tour of your city; I mean, you've lived here for four years now, right?"

Rachel, who'd pouted a little at Quinn's words, perks back up. "At least _you_ appreciate me," she directs at Marley.

" _I_ appreciate you," shoots Quinn, "but I also appreciate not being dragged out on the tour of the Great White Way for the eighteenth time."

"You exaggerate, Quinn Fabray! I do not drag people on tours against their will!"

Marley's eyes slide back and forth, like she's watching a tennis match. In a way, it is; the calculated shots fired at the other person. In another light, it also sounds a lot like she's intruding on a private moment, banter between two people in a relationship.

She blushes. She's only known Quinn for a few months, and Rachel even less; she's in no place to be making this kind of assumption about them.

"I know you, Rachel Berry," Quinn's saying now, "next you'll offer to give Marley a tour of New York's best vegan burritos,"

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn. Marley's not vegetarian, as far as I know; secondly, I'm not so intolerant that I'll go out of my way to raise awareness of animal cruelty in the meat industry." Rachel eyes her hopefully. "Speaking of that, are you aware?"

Marley was raised in a single-parent household without much money; most of their meals consisted on whatever leftovers Millie brought home from work, and their options consisted of eat or starve. To her, dietary choices had always been take it or leave it. "Vaguely."

"Maybe we'll talk another time," says Rachel, and turns to Quinn. "I'll have you know that vegan cuisine here is highly diverse with plenty of delicious, affordable, cruelty-free substitutes."

"Well, I haven't forgotten about that wrap bar you took us to in sophomore year, that you insisted was good."

"For the last time, I tried it at three in the morning when drunk. I'm hardly the best judge of culinary delights in that condition."

Quinn ignores her, addressing her next words to Marley. "A tip: ignore her when she goes all militant vegan. She knows good non-vegan and vegetarian places too; Kurt and Santana have taught her well."

"I wouldn't be much of an actress if I didn't make the effort to accommodate other people's life choices and viewpoints," says Rachel with a sniff. "It all makes fantastic material for any future roles that might earn me that Tony nomination." Finishing her drink, she checks the time on her phone. "Oh hell. I've got to go; I need to be onstage at five." Rachel slings her bag over a shoulder. "I've got your number from Quinn; I'll text you time and place later," she instructs Marley even as she's hugging Quinn, "bye!"

Marley feels a little dazed by the whirlwind of words. "That was… intense."

Quinn laughs at her. "You survived Rachel Berry. Intense is a pretty mild word."

"Are you coming with us tomorrow?"

"Of course I am. Like I'd leave you alone with an unsupervised Rachel Berry for an entire weekend."

"She's not that bad." She's intense, as Quinn warned her, and bordering on frantic, but Rachel is genuinely warm. Marley's dealt with worse.

"She isn't," agrees Quinn. "But Rachel's an acquired taste. She's actually mellowed a lot since high school, if you can believe that."

"That's a bit…" She frowns as she searches for the right word. "Overwhelming."

Quinn smirks. "I thought so too, before. She grows on you, really."

* * *

She can't wait for her first summer vacation, as a college student, to begin.

Her mom offered to come get her from the airport, but Marley declined; she knows she's not comfortable being in the public eye, but mostly Marley wants to be home as soon as humanly possible.

The siren call of home has been strong all through the last weeks of the semester; her things packed up or put in storage, her bus ticket reserved, her plans for next year's housing set and pushed to one side.

For now, she's flying out of the cab into Millie's arms and that's all that matters.

* * *

Marley elects to spend her afternoon sitting on the couch at home, enjoying the feeling of being idle. There's a knock at her door which she takes her time in answering – on a weekday afternoon in Lima, it can only be a salesperson or a door-to-door preacher.

It's neither.

"Hi," says Quinn, smiling broadly. Marley gasps.

"Hey! I wasn't expecting you!"

Quinn rolls her eyes, holds her arms out for a hug, which a suddenly sheepish Marley gives. "I decided to surprise you," she says. "Surprise."

"Definitely." She follows Marley into the house, greeting an ecstatic Millie on the way, and makes herself comfortable on the couch. It's almost exactly the way it was one year ago.

Marley hands her a grape soda. "Did you have a good trip back?"

"Yeah. I'm glad we decided to splurge on plane tickets this round." She stretches and yawns. "I can't believe I'm done with school. Again."

"Not exactly." Marley smirks. "Some of us went and applied for grad school."

Quinn groans. "I must have been drunk or insane. No way would I have willingly subjected myself to another two years of hell."

"So much for being smart," says Marley in an undertone. Quinn throws a pillow at her.

* * *

There are no long afternoons whiled away over a book this time; Quinn's only in Lima for two weeks before she's heading back to New York to move into her new apartment. She was offered a place in grad school for English at both Harvard and Columbia, eventually picking the latter because the professor she admired was there.

What Marley finds interesting is that she's sharing that apartment with Rachel and Santana; based on what she knows of Santana from Brittany, Marley isn't sure this roommate arrangement will last.

Quinn just rolls her eyes and laughs. "We're poor college graduates," she says, "we'll manage somehow because this is marginally better than homelessness."

Marley gets to spend most of Quinn's vacation with her because Quinn's time is split between all the important people in their small town, of which there are only a few; Beth, of course. Puck. Most of the people they know have already left Lima without looking back, and few of them visit.

"Puck's having a pool party tomorrow," says Quinn. "Do you want to come?"

Marley freezes. "Uh – pool?"

"Yeah. That perv just wants to see girls in swimsuits." Her friend takes a sip of her iced coffee. "Normally I wouldn't go, but the weather's been really scorching lately and that pool sounds really tempting."

She forces a smile. Her heart pounds, her skin prickles. "... I'll pass, thanks."

"That's too bad. Is it because of the last party? He's an asshole, but I was having an off-day, it's not completely his fault – " Quinn cuts herself off, eyes narrowing in sudden understanding. "It's not about Puck, is it?"

"No," is all Marley can manage. She breathes like her therapist taught her. She's not being threatened, she's with someone whom she trusts, she reminds herself. "I just don't want to be in a swimsuit."

Quinn studies her. "Okay," she says simply after a pause that drags on too long. "I won't force you. Do you…" and here she looks like she's contemplating jumping off a cliff, "want to talk about it?"

Marley is taken aback. "I thought you didn't do feelings or talking," she blurts out, and slaps a hand over her mouth.

Quinn smiles wryly. Marley wants to sink into the ground and disappear. "Well, yes; according to Rachel. But we have a complicated friendship, so… different circumstances altogether. I'm not Rachel," she says gently, "I'm not gonna pressure you into talking about personal stuff if you don't want to."

She stares. "Oh."

"Yeah. So – do you wanna talk?"

Her tone softens. "Not really, but ... I have to tell you something." Marley meets Quinn's eye; she appreciates how Quinn holds it steadily. "I remember our conversation, years ago in the bathroom. I – you might not remember, but it was a major turning point for me."

Quinn just smiles sadly. "I know."

"You – what?"

"I remembered everything."

Marley releases a shuddering breath. "Then why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"At first, you looked like you might die of embarrassment if I had." Marley snorts despite herself, and the corners of Quinn's eyes crinkle into a smile. "Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but – even then, I could tell that you were so much more than your lowest points, Marley. I wanted to get to know the real you. Later on, there was never a good time. I'm sorry for that."

She feels conflicted; terrified of revisiting her past, angry that Quinn kept her knowledge from her – and oddly relieved that Quinn knows. "So you know why, then," says Marley, "why I can't."

"I do. I just wanted you to know it's okay, and that… you've got someone to talk about it with – if you ever wanted to, that is."

Marley just nods. It's a lot to take in, all at once, and she needs time and space to process. "I don't know what to say now."

"That's normal," replies Quinn. "At least you didn't want to hurt someone, or to run." The wry tone tells Marley all she needs to know about Quinn's coping mechanisms. "If you want me to go now, that's fine too." She makes to stand.

She catches Quinn's sleeve. "Stay." Marley offers a weak smile when Quinn obliges. "Maybe we could talk about something else?"

Quinn's expression softens. "I'm currently seeing this guy, Blake," she says nonchalantly, "from my comparative literature class. You just missed him the last time we all went out."

"When was that? Rachel's senior showcase?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Marley blinks. Then it sinks in. "Seeing…? Blake's your boyfriend? That was… an abrupt change of topic."

"You said something else," teases Quinn. "I was going to tell you anyway. And, not really; we've only gone out on a few dates so far."

"True. How long have you been seeing each other?"

"A few weeks?" She holds out her phone so Marley can peer at the screen, at the photo of the handsome dark-haired man with his arm around Quinn's shoulders.

"He looks nice."

"He is," replies Quinn. "And your social life? Hotter than today?"

"Subtle, Fabray."

"Mmhmm. You know it."

"But yes," says Marley, "me and my GarageBand have an ongoing, passionate affair."

"Wow. A love story for the ages." Quinn shoots her a look that clearly says she's not convinced. But Marley honestly hasn't the time to date (and not for lack of suitors) between juggling college and work, and her friends.

Not that Marley's in a hurry to find someone; her dating history is short yet fraught with drama, and she wants none of that hot mess.

The conversation reaches a natural end, and they lapse back into their comfortable silence. Marley feels light, precisely one secret lighter; on this summer's day, it's more refreshing than iced tea or air conditioning.

* * *

When she gets a text from Quinn asking to meet at the Lima Bean, Marley's first reaction is a flutter of nervousness. It's irrational, but it doesn't stop her from typing and deleting a reply multiple times before she finally hits upon the ideal combination of casual and friendly. Like she's used to being asked out by popular kids.

She gets there early, and is pleased to find their usual table (in the sense that Marley's often joined by Quinn there) vacant. Marley decides to wait for Quinn before buying her drink. Her current book is out of her bag and on the table immediately.

"Hey."

Marley looks up. "Hi." Quinn, as usual, doesn't look like she's meeting a friend for coffee on a lazy summer morning, in her flower print dress. Marley feels positively underdressed in her chambray button-up and cut-offs. "It's too early and too hot to be wearing that."

Quinn giggles. "Trust me, I'd love nothing more than shorts." She drops her tote bag to the floor and sits down. "My parents didn't let me buy them because they were too revealing. The downsides of growing up in a strict Christian showhouse."

If Quinn's parents could kick her out of the house for getting pregnant, they certainly would have banned shorts. Marley winces in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Her friend waves her off. "You haven't gotten a drink yet?" she asks lightly. "What do you want?"

"I'll go with you." They take just their purses over to the counter, peering up at the menu overhead. Marley gets her usual iced tea and they mill about the counter waiting for their drinks.

When they're seated again with their drinks, Quinn doesn't immediately take out her book like she normally does. "So my mom finally remembered that I told her about your mom's catering service," she begins with a roll of her eyes, and immediately Marley know what today's meetup is for, "and she was thrilled."

"That's great."

"She's hosting a garden party for the Rotary Club ladies next Saturday and she'd like your mom to cater for it." It strikes Marley that Quinn isn't falling over herself in excitement at the news, but she keeps that observation to herself. She pulls her battered notebook out of her bag, opening it to a new page.

"Mom'll be happy to do it. What exactly did you have in mind?"

* * *

Millie Rose is overjoyed by the order. The Fabrays are a well-known name in their small town, and she lightly teases Marley about her connections.

Marley herself has mixed feelings. Quinn is as cheerful and polite as ever when making arrangements and planning menus. But something feels… off. She can't quite put her finger on it – and won't, in any case, since she doesn't know Quinn enough to comment – and so decides to say nothing.

It's not as though she's idle, too. There are a few errands that require her attention, now that she'll be a college sophomore in the fall, and of course, Millie needs all the help she can get to prepare all the food in time for the party.

* * *

On the day of the party itself, Millie has to practically bully her daughter into bringing along a change of clothes as they pack the food into the car.

"It's not my party, Mom," protests Marley. She's been up half the night glazing fruit tarts, and it shows. Dressed in jean shorts and a light cotton check shirt, her hair up in a messy bun since the crack of dawn, she's really not in any state to appear at a nice garden party.

"Nonsense," tuts Millie. She badgers Marley into packing a few things, and tosses them into the boot of the car. "Just in case, sweetie."

Marley drives. She tries not be awed by how large the houses – mansions, really – on either side of the road are, compared to their own neighbourhood. Millie has no such compulsions, and openly "ooh"s and "ahh"s.

They pull up outside a modest (compared to the others) house that's surrounded by parked cars. Almost as though on cue, the front door opens and Quinn comes out.

Quinn herself is dressed to the nines in what looks like a vintage tea dress, her hair done up in an elegant chignon. An older lady in similar clothing and appearance who can only be Quinn's mother follows after her, and she introduces herself as Judy Fabray. The Fabrays, mother and daughter, are the epitome of graciousness and charm as they take the food from the Roses, and assist the setup.

"Marley, is it? I've heard so much about you from my Quinnie," gushes Judy as she hands the check to Millie. "You must stay and enjoy the party, dear. You and your mother."

"That's so kind of you to offer, Mrs Fabray, but I'm afraid I have to turn it down. I've got another order to fulfill." Millie nudges her daughter. "I'm sure Marley would love to stay; she's brought a few things to change into."

"Mom," hisses Marley, thoroughly mortified – even as Judy beams and says, "How wonderful – Quinnie, show Marley the bathroom after we've done setting up the food."

"Sure, Mom," says Quinn easily. Marley notices now that Quinn hasn't stopped smiling. What was that Quinn said? Something about being raised in a showhouse? Looking at mother and daughter, a stark opposition to herself and her mother, Marley starts to understand where all that bitterness had stemmed from.

* * *

On hindsight, packing a dress hasn't been her smartest idea. Her usual jeans and top is a tad too casual for the Fabray garden party, but Marley doesn't know what to do with herself; Quinn is the only person her age, and she's left with nothing to do after she's been politely introduced to the other ladies. Marley's not about to eat anything – not after she's helped prepare each and every item, and had to sample them along the way.

Quinn materialises in front of her as she miserably tries to hide behind the buffet table. "How are you holding up?" asks the older girl, her perfect society smile in place.

"Pretty good." Marley smiles back, reaching for a finger sandwich.

"Okay. Want to sneak out and grab an ice cream?"

Marley blinks rapidly. Startled, she drops the sandwich back on the tray. She's certain she's misheard. "Huh?"

"I'm not joking, I'm bored out of my mind." Quinn takes her wrist and leads her towards the driveway. "C'mon. They won't miss us until later, now Mom's already had her fill of showing off her perfect Ivy League daughter. I've done the rounds and been introduced to everyone. I'll treat you, let's go."

And she can't actually protest without creating a scene and attracting unwanted attention, so Marley lets herself be led further, down the path and into Quinn's car. Quinn doesn't say anything more until the ice cream parlour, when she asks Marley what flavour she wants.

Marley hovers outside the shop, uncertain. Quinn nods towards the car. "Up for another outing?" she asks, a smile lingering on her lips. "I know a nice place we can eat this in peace." She nods at the still-staring boy behind the counter. Clearly, it's not everyday two girls dressed to the nines come in for ice cream.

"Sure – you're my ride, after all," replies Marley. It gets a hearty laugh out of Quinn, and lifts the mood somewhat.

Quinn's place turns out to be a clearing on the edge of a wood. "My old jogging route," is all Quinn offers in explanation. They're still in their nice dresses, so they lean against the car.

Marley takes an instant liking to the place; she can see how it appeals to Quinn – or at least, what she knows of her personality. The tall grass, the relative isolation despite being a short drive from the main town area, how the woods just encourage her to slow down and breathe.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Marley blushes and tells Quinn what's on her mind. Quinn nods approvingly.

"I knew you'd get it."

The embarrassed blush turns into one of pleasure, and then there are no more words left to describe the atmosphere.

"You know," starts Quinn, "it's kinda ironic that I'm always the one talking."

Marley shrugs. "I don't really have much to say, and I like listening to you talk."

"I like listening to me talk, too," says Quinn dryly, and both girls laugh.

Quinn finishes her ice cream. She goes to sit in the backseat. Brushing her hands off, she rests an elbow on the knee of her vintage dress, and her chin in that palm. "Honestly, talking is something new to me. My father was of the opinion that children should be seen and not heard. I spent most of my time at home in my room, doing my own things."

"I didn't really know my dad. He left when I was three." Her mother rarely talks about him, but there are plenty of old photos around their house. She has his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I barely remember him, and my mom doesn't like talking about him."

"My mom doesn't talk about my father much, either," says Quinn, and laughs; a short, bitter burst. "He's a complete asshole and hypocrite."

Marley doesn't pry. She waits, content to receive whatever information Quinn is willing to divulge. She knows that Quinn was kicked out of her house and only taken back in when her mother threw him out, having heard the information from those Glee clubbers that've known Quinn longer (as well as from Quinn herself).

Quinn catches the look on her face and says, wryly: "Who have you been talking to? Sam? Tina?"

She ducks her head. "Brittany. Before you get mad, she didn't mean to say anything."

"It's okay. Brittany has the right idea. She's good at saying stuff that no one wants to say, but it needs to be heard." It's the closest Quinn's ever come to talking about their conversation at Thanksgiving, the first time they met. Marley shoots her a look, but she shows no signs of wanting to elaborate on that.

"You seem pretty okay with your mom, now."

"That's because I went away to college," replies Quinn simply. "I got out of this town and gained a little more perspective on things. I think my mom and I work best when we don't spend so much time in close proximity."

Marley can't relate. She missed her mother so badly while she was at college, hundreds of miles away.

"Did you actually try to compare your mom to mine?" asks Quinn, sounding amused. "Because it's not the same at all. My mom is... my entire family, but we don't do affection. I'm not saying she doesn't care about me, because she does, but in her own way."

"It's pretty clear." Marley remembers the way Judy treats Quinn – like fine china, paraded on special occasions to be admired. In return, Quinn is cool and reserved; unfailingly polite and obliging, but distant. "She's trying, though."

"She is." Quinn stares into the middle distance. "I can't fault her for that."

By this time, Marley's finished her own ice cream but it's evident that Quinn is in no hurry to leave; she folds her hands in her lap, and observes.

This is the most relaxed she's seen Quinn ever since the entire venture started. While there's no apparent difference to the casual outsider, Marley's starting to understand Quinn – and thus, the masks she wears.

She lets herself enjoy the moment.

* * *

They pull up outside Quinn's house and slip in – unnoticed, as Quinn predicted. The older girl helps herself to some punch and pours some for Marley. Then, she pulls a small flask from under the table and spikes her own punch with a healthy dose of its contents.

"Quinn!"

Her friend smiles sheepishly. "It's watered-down now," she points out, "I'll need it if I want to survive the rest of the day, after the sugar rush of the ice cream."

Marley stares. "I didn't know you owned a hip flask."

Quinn grins. "Graduation present from Puck."

"That explains so much."

* * *

As the party winds down, Millie appears to help clear up. Judy whisks her away to introduce her to the guests. but not before dragging Marley with them.

The food was well-received by everyone, and so were the dessert pastries. Marley has always been proud of her mother, but she feels as though her heart will burst on seeing Millie beam from ear to ear as Lima's social elite heaps praises on her food.

Her mother reaches out a hand, tugs Marley's elbow. "Oh, I couldn't have done it without my girl," she gushes. "Marley's everything I could have asked for."

"You have a wonderful daughter, Mrs. Rose," says Judy effusively. Marley catches the wistful look sent Quinn's way only because she's looking for it. "You must be so proud of her."

"I am."

As they prepare to leave, Millie takes the first batch of trays to the car (she insisted on their good trays instead of the standard aluminium foil, because the Fabrays were Marley's friends) while Marley packs up the rest.

There's a serving platter unaccounted for; she goes to the kitchen in search of it. There are two well-dressed ladies already there, hors d'oeuvres in their hands. Marley is about to walk in when their words stop her in her tracks.

"Judy must be running a charity now," says the closer of the two, wearing peach-coloured silk. "Did you see the caterer? She looks like she samples her food regularly, if you know what I mean."

"The daughter seems like she doesn't get out much, poor thing; I saw her trying to hide behind the refreshments table earlier."

Marley's blood runs red-hot in her veins. Trembling in every inch, she steps into the kitchen and says hotly: "I don't think you have the right to judge me and my mom like that."

The women have the grace to look ashamed, but only briefly. "It's not ladylike to eavesdrop, dear," says Peach Silk.

"Ladylike! You – "

"Mrs Cartwright!" interjects a voice. Quinn glides into the kitchen, smiling with all the warmth of an iceberg. "I'm sorry, or should it be Ms Woodley? I heard you and your husband got divorced last year, after that little… _misunderstanding_ , with the gardener," she addresses Peach Silk, then rounds on the other woman. "And Mrs Smethson. I was so sorry to hear your son was expelled from college. It's a pity your husband couldn't arrange for them to overlook his… _indiscretions_." She follows this up with a wide beam. "Yet, I'm so glad you two could grace us with your presence today."

The women force icily polite smiles, and then exit. Quinn doesn't even wait for them to be gone before she turns to Marley. "Are you okay?"

She forces her own icy smile. "Yeah. You didn't have to stick up for me, I'm used to that."

She notices a flicker of hurt on Quinn's face, but her expression quickly smooths over into blankness. "I'm sorry that happened."

"Me too." She blinks and feels hot wetness on her cheeks; angrily, she swipes at them. "I have to go. My mom will be wondering where I am." And she brushes past Quinn, snatching the platter as she goes.

Quinn doesn't stop her.

* * *

"Sweetheart, is somethin' wrong?" asks Millie.

She shakes her head. "No. I'm just tired. All that prep work, and the party."

"Your eyes're red."

"There was a lot of pollen in the back garden." Marley buckles her seatbelt. "Can we go? I really need a shower."

* * *

When she turns on her phone the next morning, there's a text from Quinn: _I'm sorry. Call me when you get this pls_

She takes a deep, steadying breath, and then presses the call button.

Quinn picks up on the third ring. "Marley? Hi. Thanks for calling, I wasn't sure you would."

"Hi, Quinn," she says. She feels a lot better, albeit a little hollow.

"Have you got any plans today? Can you meet me at the Lima Bean?"

She takes a deep breath. "Okay."

* * *

Quinn's already there. She stands up when Marley reaches the table. "I'm sorry about yesterday," says Quinn, "for what those women said."

"Why are you apologizing so much? You've nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do. It shouldn't have happened at all."

Marley smiles faintly. "But you defended me spectacularly. You went all Head-Bitch-in-Charge on them."

"Oh god. That nickname comes back to haunt me."

"I'm not mad at you, Quinn. I'm glad you stuck up for me, them being your mom's friends and all."

Quinn nods, but doesn't lose her vaguely guilty expression.

"Is something else bothering you?"

"No," says Quinn quickly.

Marley has an epiphany. "You're worried I think you and your mom agree with them."

"No!" But her eyes tell another story.

It dawns on Marley, then, that the both of them have been looking at their friendship through very different lenses. "... okay. You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"You're not being nice to me 'cause you wanted something from us," says Marley bluntly. "But you have a past. People have believed the worst of you. I've heard the stories," she speaks louder, over the beginning of Quinn's protests, "I don't believe that's who you are now."

Quinn looks away.

Marley sighs. But before she can say anything, Quinn jerks her head back up, her determined gaze finding Marley's. "I'm sorry," she starts jerkily. "I'll just go."

"Quinn, wait."

She actually does pause, and Marley rushes her words out before the older girl can flee: "I invited you to my house for dinner."

Hazel eyes narrow in confusion, but it works; Quinn stops gathering up her things to listen. "I'm sorry?"

"The thing is – I don't do that for just everyone," says Marley. "Tina, Sam, Jake… only Unique's been to my house before, and I've known her for years." She clutches at the book at her bag for courage. "I trust you. Believe me, it's weird for me since I don't usually trust people so quickly, but – I don't think you're friends with me because you want something. And I know neither does my mom."

Slowly, Quinn subsides. Her shoulders lose their tension. "You and Rachel are scarily alike," she says, shaking her head. "Always forgiving me, seeing the best in everything…"

 _Why do you always think you need to be forgiven?_ The thought flits into Marley's mind, but is tamped down in favour of a warm smile. Quinn has her hands clasped together on the table, in front of her. She looks like a little girl waiting for a reprimand. The sight spurs Marley to rest her hand on Quinn's before she can overthink the gesture.

Quinn looks up, surprised.

"We're friends," Marley says decisively, "okay?"

"... Okay."

* * *

She heard that Blake might be joining Quinn in Lima for the summer. She remembers (very vaguely) the last time Quinn brought a boyfriend home; some wealthy-looking guy from Yale who looked bored out of his mind.

"Biff Apple," says Unique with a nod.

"Apple?"

"McIntosh. Same thing." She makes a vague gesture with her nail file, then goes back to work on her left pinky nail. "Does this look even to you?"

Tina squints at her. "Looks fine."

"Good."

Marley sprawls on the bed, scooting on her front towards them, propping her chin up on her clasped hands. "How do you even remember that?"

Unique smirks. "'Cause Quinn tried to take his nose off in the parking lot after."

"No."

"Yes!" Unique looks incredibly smug. "Jake told me after hearing it from Puck. The uppity fucker – "

" _Unique_!"

"Well, he is!"

Marley sighs. "Go on."

"He had this totally different image of Quinn. Like, he didn't know about her scandalous past, et cetera, et cetera; then Santana and all told him. Apple boy wasn't happy, nope. He called her a slutbag."

"What?"

Tina nods. "That's when she attacked him," she takes up the narration, "then Puck threw him in the dumpster."

Unique blinks at her. "How'd you know?"

"I saw him trying to climb out. He asked me for help." Tina shrugs. "The whole time he was ranting about Puck and Quinn."

"You didn't actually help him, did you?" asks Unique, wrinkling her nose.

"Well… I told him there was a latch at the bottom that he could pull to open the emergency hatch in the side of the dumpster," replies Tina.

"But… there's no emergency hatch," says Marley with a frown.

Tina shrugs again, but she's grinning. " _He_ didn't know that. I guess now he does, after rummaging through all that trash."

Unique cackles. "OMG, I love you, babe," she exclaims, clapping her hands together and kissing Tina's cheek.

Marley feels a little conflicted. On one hand, she was there; she knows that Biff didn't make much of an effort to understand Quinn's interest in Glee or to interact with her friends. He certainly deserved what he got, especially after what he called Quinn.

But Marley feels more. She wants to slap him, to hurt him for daring to hurt Quinn like that. It scares her; the trembling of her hands, the clench of her chest, and the primal urge to tear him apart with her bare hands.

"Marl?"

She looks up into concerned brown eyes. "You okay, hon?" asks Unique, fingers curling around her clenched hand. Marley relaxes under the touch.

"Yeah. Thanks."

* * *

Quinn comes by for their movie night, but there's something off. Marley can read the older girl now, though not as well as she would like.

"Are you okay?"

Her attention was trained on the TV. "Yeah," she replies, still not looking at Marley.

Marley purses her lips. She reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." There's a hard edge to her voice that Marley has learned to recognise, and remembers from the time at Puck's party, when she was talking about her baby. As before, Marley doesn't probe; just goes to the kitchen to fetch another drink, putting it on the coffee table in front of Quinn.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"It's nothing much."

"Well, okay." She makes no move to continue the movie, however. Marley watches Quinn carefully.

Just when she's about to give in and pick up the remote, Quinn says: "I talked to my mom this afternoon."

"Oh?" Marley doesn't know Judy Fabray, but she knows this can be nothing good.

"About those bitches at the party."

Marley clenches her jaw, controlling the wave of anxiety that rushes through her belly.

"It didn't… go so well." Quinn finally turns to her then, eyes soft. "I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" is the first thing Marley can think to say of.

"Huh?"

"It's your mom, not you. You don't have anything to be sorry for, Quinn; you've been a great friend." She scoots closer but hesitates when about to rest a hand on Quinn's, still nervous about initiating physical contact.

"Yeah. I… she said some things that got to me, that's all." Quinn shakes her head.

"Oh. That sucks," says Marley. She knows first-hand how deeply words can cut.

"There's something I've always wanted to ask you," says Quinn, and then bites her lower lip as though regretting she's said that much.

"About?"

"About… back then."

"Oh." Marley drops her gaze. So far, she's garnered enough information about Quinn to know her past is about as painful as her own. Marley's better now, but she wonders if that means she can talk about it – even just glossing over, as Quinn did.

Her deliberation lasts a little too long, because Quinn stops fidgeting with the hem of her skirt and says: "Forget it, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."

"No, I mean…" She pauses as she searches for the right words. "I do want to – my therapist said it would be good if I could. Talk about it, I mean. She said it was part of the healing process."

"You haven't talked about it yet?"

Marley shakes her head.

Quinn sighs. Thankfully, she doesn't say anything – and doesn't need to. Marley knows very well the struggle and loneliness of carrying something dark and heavy inside, and the fear of rejection.

It's this mindfulness that spurs Marley onwards past her last doubts, and place a hand on Quinn's knee. "Ask," she says with determination.

A tiny smile glimmers on Quinn's face. Her thumb brushes the back of Marley's hand. "It must have been hard, with everything," she starts tentative, "keeping it from your mom."

Marley closes her eyes and lets herself revisit those months. "It was a struggle," she confesses. "There was food everywhere. Mom always wanted me to taste test new dishes, or she'd saved me something from the cafeteria for lunch and I was expected to eat in front of her. I had a schedule drawn up. Times I could go to the bathroom to – to _purge_ – without anyone missing me. Places no one went to. I was so tired all the time, I was _starving_ , and the worst part was…" She takes a deep shuddering breath. "I would look in the mirror and all I could see was that it wasn't working. Everything was crumbling around me and it was all for nothing; I was bloated and _fat_."

Quinn makes an angry noise but doesn't interrupt. Her fingers wrap around Marley's wrist.

"I was in really bad shape when I started therapy. Angry and tired. I didn't want to talk because I'd hid it for so long, I'd worked so hard to make sure no one found out." She laughs mirthlessly. "It was a while before I could enjoy eating again."

"I'm so proud of you," says Quinn quietly, "all the progress you've made. You've come a long way."

She smiles absently. "It's part of the reason why my mom started taking proper catering jobs, you know. She used to bake for people as a hobby, but we needed the money to pay for therapy. She didn't need to – "

" – Stop right there," orders Quinn, giving Marley's wrist a shake. "Don't do that."

"Sorry." Marley gives her a rueful smile – which rapidly dissolves into tears on seeing Quinn's own tear-filled eyes. She cries into Quinn's shoulder, the latter holding her and rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," murmurs Quinn into her ear, once her tears have slowed. "I should have known better."

"No, it's fine." Marley pulls away a little, just so she can look Quinn in the eye. "I'm glad you asked. I needed that too, and… it feels good. Like, I feel that the more I talk about it, someday it won't affect me this much."

Quinn smiles sheepishly. "If only I'd known that earlier," she says, deadpan, and it makes Marley smile as well.

"Better now than never, right?"

"Oh, certainly." Quinn settles back into the couch, and Marley does too; by unspoken agreement, they continue the movie. Marley's hand doesn't leave Quinn's throughout.

* * *

Much later that night, it occurs to Marley that she has no idea what set Quinn off so badly. Her friend has gone through so much, and there's still more than she doesn't know about her – case in point, Biff McIntosh.

She would love to be there for Quinn, just like Quinn's been there for her.

If Quinn ever trusts her enough to let her.

* * *

She is writing at her desk when Marley enters, but clearly is expecting her. "Hi, Marley," says the woman, smiling broadly, "it's good to see you."

"Hey, Doctor C." Marley shakes the woman's hand and takes a seat in the plush leather armchair.

"Sweet?" The bowl on the desk is pushed in her direction.

"Thanks."

"You look great. How's school and New York?"

"Both are great." She takes her time unwrapping her butterscotch candy. It's a habit she's developed when formulating answers to her therapist, so she doesn't get overwhelmed. "I'm holding a 3.2 GPA, and my professor wants me to start on my professional portfolio next year. My manager promised me a pay raise if I go back."

"That's wonderful." Doctor C makes a note on the pad in front of her.

"I, um, I'm doing fine with the other stuff too. I eat fast food once in a while, when my roommates order takeout."

Doctor C beams at her. "I'm glad. How did you feel about that?"

She takes her time. "Guilty, at first," admits Marley, looking down at the candy wrapper in her hands. "Like I was cheating. Calculating how much work I would have to do to make up for it. But it passed really fast. I haven't let it take over in a while, so I knew I could let it go."

"Very well done." Her therapist sets aside her pen and pad, steepling her fingers. "You've made remarkable progress, Marley."

"Thanks."

"Which is why I'm wondering why you made this appointment," says Doctor C gently. "It's only been six months since our yearly update."

Her stomach turns over. "I, um, I wanted to talk about something that's been bothering me."

"Oh, okay. What's on your mind?"

"I'm… I don't know." Even now, admitting it to her therapist feels like a mountain to overcome, almost as bad as before. "I have these feelings which scare me."

Doctor C's eyes soften at the edges. "Do you think you can talk about it?"

Marley relates the story of Biff's dumpster dive; the therapist's mouth twitches at the sides at the part about the emergency hatch but she makes no other reaction. "I was so angry," she says quietly, "just… rage."

"That's normal. Biff said terrible things about someone you care about."

"But I didn't… I wanted to hurt him badly." Marley reaches for another piece of candy. "I wasn't this angry when Unique was catfished. Or even when I found out Kitty knowingly made me develop my disorder. I think…" Her voice falters, "I think if that he'd been in front of me, I'd have killed him."

Doctor C is silent for a moment. Marley keeps her head bowed as she contemplates the lime burst between her fingers, turning the candy over and over.

Eventually, she speaks. "You care about Quinn a great deal, don't you?"

Marley nods.

"I understand she's had quite the tumultuous life?" She follows up with a quick, "As always, everything you tell me remains in this room."

Marley laughs. "That would be an understatement, but yes." Doctor C knows the bare facts, but not in detail; Marley hasn't yet been comfortable enough to share what she knows of her friend's secrets – even with her therapist.

"Would you say that she trusts you?"

"Enough to share those personal things with me."

"Do you trust her?"

She pauses. "I…"

Doctor C waits.

"She knows about me, about this. She was the one who noticed in the first place. She's never judged me for any of it, nor has she pressured me into talking, or anything I didn't want to do. She's protected me." Marley lifts her head. "I trust her."

Doctor C smiles. "Good. That's good."

"But, sometimes I just wish…" She fumbles, actually physically fumbles, for the right words. "I wish that she would open up more. I mean, I understand that she – "

Her therapist holds up a hand. "I'm going to stop you there, Marley. Do you know why?"

She nods. "This is a safe space," she recites, "and I never have to moderate myself."

"Precisely. Could you repeat that, please, as you intended?"

"I want her to open up," says Marley bluntly. "Most of what I know about her is what Rachel – her best friend – told me, or through other friends. To me, she's only ever confirmed it, or talked about it briefly. I wish she would trust me enough to talk to me about what she's feeling – or she felt. I mean – I do trust her, but – yeah."

Doctor C nods thoughtfully. "First, thank you for using your words, Marley."

Marley ducks her head. "Thanks."

"Secondly, what you're feeling is perfectly normal. You've shared a lot of your thoughts, experiences, and feelings with Quinn; it's not strange to want the same." The therapist folds her hands on the writing pad in front of her. "In my professional opinion, I don't see any reason for concern."

"In your personal opinion?"

The older woman smiles. "In my personal opinion, I think it's only a matter of time. Quinn gives me the impression that she's a very private young woman who needs time and space to open up. You've been a good friend to her, from what I've heard."

"Oh."

* * *

On Quinn's last night in Lima, they drive out a little further, almost out of town. There is a small place overlooking a pond, where the only lights are from their car headlights and the moon. They've been here before.

Not geographically, Marley thinks; Quinn's driving, but she picked their parking spot. They're at the field overlooking the railyard – much to Quinn's amusement – but it's devoid of people, and it's somewhere they won't be disturbed.

"How'd you get to know about this place?" asks Quinn, already halfway through her ice cream.

Marley flushes scarlet. "Jake took me here once," she mutters, "and he said his brother used to bring girls here to make out with. Not that we actually did anything."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Of course it had to be Puckerman." She doesn't comment further – Marley's eternally grateful.

It's cool enough that they don't need to blast the air conditioning. Marley sighs in contentment.

"Recline your seat all the way," says Quinn.

Bemused, she does.

Quinn reaches up and slides back a hatch to reveal a sunroof, the moon and stars neatly framed within. "Stargazing in comfort."

"That's awesome. How did we not do this earlier?"

"I forgot about it until Rachel browsed through my owner's manual yesterday," admits Quinn sheepishly.

Marley hums. Between the satisfaction of dinner, the comfort of plush leather seats, and the company of one of her best friends, she's feeling incredibly content in this moment. "What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?"

"Um…" Suddenly shy, she repeats her question.

"Were you looking for something deep and insightful, or just mundane?" asks Quinn, a smile playing on her lips.

"Whatever. Really, I just… wanted to find words to describe this."

Quinn moves her body so her head tips to one side, nudging Marley's shoulder. "I really don't think there should be."

Marley hums her agreement.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Chapter title comes from _Leave Your Lover_ by Sam Smith. Extended author's notes and further meta about this story can be found on my Tumblr; I'm **yumi-michiyo** there.


	4. Part Three

**Part Three:** _like a bird on the wire (I have tried in my way to be free)_

* * *

The boys never remember to leave on time. Marley usually has to remind them to be on their way to wherever they need to be; even the important stuff like when Stan had his presentation for half the semester's grade, or when Gavin was supposed to be home in Astoria for an important family dinner. Andie is the other voice of reason in the flat, but Andie's already home in Little Rock, free of the responsibilities of nagging their flatmates.

But today, it's Gavin who looks at his phone and says: "Hey Marl, don't you have a bus to catch?"

She blinks. Still in the middle of an animated discussion about audio blending, her mind takes its time to come back to the present, and then –

"Oh, right." Marley takes her duffel bag onto a shoulder, and grabs her keys. "Don't go into my room while I'm away!" she yells over her shoulder, and the boys laugh.

She pauses in the doorway. "No, seriously," she says, deadpan. "Gavin, don't think I've forgotten about the time we let you throw that party and I found three sets of underwear in my room. _Three_. Two pairs of panties and a set of briefs."

"We never did find the owner of the briefs," sighs Gavin.

"Just… no."

Stan laughs. "Will do, Rose," he says, grabbing Gavin and ruffling his hair, "now git."

* * *

This time around, it's easier for her to leave, and easier to come home. Millie picks her up from the airport, and talks the entire way home about the new watercolour class she worked up the nerve to sign up for. She made a few friends there, and actually has standing coffee lunch dates with them on weekends.

Marley smiles. Just before she started her sophomore year, Millie bought a set of home fitness videos (with the money Marley saved up from her job). Marley had insisted her mother spend the money, but wasn't expecting her to reaffirm her commitment to an old goal.

They kept each other updated over the year (Millie with her diet plans, Marley with school), and both have made remarkable progress – both with their endeavours, and with independence.

She's _so_ proud.

* * *

On a lazy Saturday afternoon, Marley decides it's too hot to do anything productive. She's glad she had the foresight to restock her fridge and find a good book for the afternoon.

She's all set – or would be, if… It's a long shot, but impulsively Marley reaches for her phone, fires off a quick text.

There's no reply, but Marley doesn't overthink it. She has other things to do.

* * *

She wakes abruptly to the sound of her phone ringing. Marley takes some time to really comprehend what's going on – she's a morning person, but it was also morning when she got to bed – but eventually fumbles for the phone.

"H'lo?"

"Hi Marley, it's Quinn – sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. Late night. What's up?"

"I need your help. Do you mind if I come over?"

Marley glances at the time on her phone, tries to calculate the amount of time she'll need to appear decent. "... sure. Give me fifteen minutes."

* * *

Quinn appears on her doorstep looking apologetic. "I'm really sorry to spring this on you, but I didn't know who to ask."

"It's alright. Really. What can I do for you?"

"It's my – it's Beth's birthday tomorrow, and apparently Puck promised Shelby he'd get the cake, but that fuck-up forgot and he's out of town today. Rachel was supposed to help me bake one, but something came up and she can't make it." Quinn exhales. "I know I should be buying a cake or something, but... I don't know. I honestly don't know why I want to go to such lengths. She's not even mine."

The last sentence is muttered, but Marley catches it. She pretends not to notice Quinn's lapse. It's not the time for it, just as it isn't the time to ask why Quinn never replied her text. Nodding, Marley says: "Okay. What cake would she like?"

Quinn looks anguished. "I don't know – what kind of cake would a seven-year-old like? Shelby said she's at that stage where she's really picky about food, but I think cake doesn't count, right?"

"My mom says for kids' birthday cakes, you can't go wrong with chocolate."

"Chocolate. Sure. That's good."

Quinn's nervous. She's seen Quinn uncomfortable and brooding, but never like this; then Marley recalls. Beth and Shelby… she's heard those names before.

Her heart pounds. This is Quinn opening up to her.

"Right," she says, grabbing her keys and purse, "let's go get ingredients." Quinn nods, and heads straight for her car.

When Marley slips into the passenger seat, the radio is playing The Pointer Sisters' _I'm So Excited_ ; she laughs. "Not the most apt," she says, nodding at the radio.

Her friend frowns and listens intently for a moment, cracking a tight smile of her own. Quinn pulls out of the quiet street and towards the town centre.

She is tense. The attempt at a joke – something she's still beating herself up over – failed miserably. Marley goes back to safer waters. "Are you getting her anything else apart from the cake?"

The corners of Quinn's mouth turn down. "No," she says after a pause, "I don't know her well enough… Puck's the one who sees her regularly. Rachel and I are at school most of the time and we only come back to Lima for summer break; even then, I was in London on exchange last year, and Rachel was at some special theatre summer program." She takes the next turn so hard the car jerks. "I don't even think she knows who I am."

Marley has to think carefully about what she's going to say next – but quickly, before the moment's lost. "I don't know the whole story, and it's not my place to comment anyway, but… I don't think it matters as much as you think it does."

Quinn doesn't say anything; emboldened, Marley continues: "She's not gonna remember what kind of cake she got, or how many people came to the party. But she'll remember the important things, like you, Puck, and Rachel were there, even if she doesn't know who you guys are to her right now. Maybe she'll learn the whole story when she's older, but…" She makes a vague gesture with her hand. "That's then. This is now."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"Can we not talk about this?" Quinn practically snarls.

"O-of course."

Quinn keeps her eyes fixed on the road ahead. They park outside the grocery store in silence. "Get whatever you need, and I'll pay for it," says Quinn quietly. Her eyes don't meet Marley's.

She puts ingredients into the cart on autopilot, still in shock from Quinn's outburst – not the first time she's experienced it, but definitely the first time she's been the target. "Uh, you mentioned Rachel's vegetarian, right?"

Quinn's answer is a terse nod.

"... Okay."

She keeps her head down, pushes the cart. Quinn walks a little ahead of her, never looking at her once. She's stiff, in a way she's never been with Marley before.

"I'm sorry," she offers.

"It's fine." But it's not fine at all, because Quinn still won't meet her eyes, and her tone is calculated politeness. Marley feels helpless.

Together, they pay for and load the groceries into the trunk of Quinn's car. When the car starts up, Quinn reaches over to turn the radio off.

* * *

Only when the bags are set up on the counter of Marley's kitchen does Quinn turn to Marley and ask quietly, "What do you need me to do?"

Marley starts. She was expecting Quinn to leave. "You don't need to stay if you're uncomfortable. I can manage, and you can come pick up the cake tomorrow morning."

"Don't be ridiculous, Marley," says Quinn curtly. "I can help. I'm not as good at baking as you or Rachel, but that doesn't mean I can't sift flour or stir ingredients. I can do _that_ , at least."

She does her best not to flinch. "Okay. I'm sorry." Marley takes the flour and sugar out of the bag, and sets it on the counter. "The mixing bowl's underneath. The sieve's hanging over there," she points, "and you need to sift one-and-a-half cups of flour into it." She takes her mother's handwritten recipe out of the breast pocket of her flannel shirt, and places it flat between their workstations. "The rest of the dry ingredients are listed here; we have baking soda in the fridge, baking powder and salt are in the jars in the corner. Cocoa's in the upper cupboard to the right."

"Got it."

She busies herself with setting the oven to preheat, and getting the saucepan ready for the cherry filling. As much as Marley wants to crawl into a hole somewhere, she's adamant about completing the job; she agreed to help, and that's what she'll do.

Marley glances at Quinn's side of the workstation. She has a spatula in hand as she mixes the dry ingredients together. "Eggs, milk, and oil," says Marley, fetching the items and setting them to Quinn's right. "Add them a little at a time to – "

"– I know," says Quinn tersely, "it's written on the paper."

In the shocked silence that follows, Quinn's icy demeanour melts a little. "... Sorry."

"It's fine," says Marley quietly, and sees Quinn flush – with embarrassment? Shame? – in the split-second before she turns away.

The rest of the work is done in complete, awkward silence, up until the cake mix is put into the oven. "It'll take about twenty-five minutes," says Marley, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel. Out of habit, she's adopted the cool, professional manner she used in high school with Kitty. "What time do you need it tomorrow?"

"Around noon."

Marley nods. "Okay, then. We can frost and decorate it tomorrow morning – say, nine. You don't need to hang around for it to finish baking today 'cause it needs to cool completely before we can decorate it." She busies herself with gathering up the utensils and dumping them in the sink. "Do you want a drink before you go?" asks Marley as she rinses out the mixing bowl.

"Marley…"

"We have more of that lemonade that you like," she continues as though Quinn hasn't spoken, "or there's grape soda. And some cranberry juice."

"I'm sorry."

Slowly, she turns around. Quinn leans against the kitchen counter awkwardly, one hand clasping the elbow of her other arm, expression taut.

"For?" She wasn't expecting this, not after being frozen out for most of the afternoon, and that outburst earlier.

"I made it weird," says Quinn. "I do that a lot, driving people away."

Marley studies her. Freshman, sophomore, and maybe even junior Marley would have shrunk away from this emotional minefield. But she's the new Marley, and she's who she is today partially because of Quinn. "That's fine," she says with a curt nod. "I'm sorry too for saying those things. I was out of line."

The tone of her voice has its intended effect. Quinn wilts a little but pulls herself together with that Fabray composure, shoulders back and head held high. "Okay. So… I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

"Okay." Marley takes that as her cue to open the front door and let Quinn out. She shuts the door with a click and peeks from behind the curtain, watching Quinn get into her car and drive away. Marley stands there long after the street is empty.

She doesn't understand what happened. They had been getting along so well, and they had gotten over bigger issues – or so she thought – in this friendship. And everything had blown up in her face because she'd expressed concern about an issue her friend was clearly struggling with.

Marley scowls. Sometime during junior year, she'd learned to recognize when things were out of her hands, and to cut her losses. And yet, this Quinn isn't the person who noticed her, years ago.

She needs not to think about this for a while. Marley fishes her phone out of her back pocket and calls Unique.

* * *

The other girl shows up in ten minutes, bringing an arsenal. "'Nique, why did you bring this?" asks Marley, taking a pint of chocolate chip ice cream out of the paper bag. "And – oh god – _A Cinderella Story._ "

"Comfort is comfort," replies Unique blithely. She switches on the DVD player.

"I didn't _break up_ with Quinn." Marley cracks open the case and hands her friend the DVD. "In fact, I'm pretty certain I said we had a fight."

"Honey, friend breakups are just as devastating as real breakups."

"We didn't – "

"Shhh." Her friend tugs on her arm, pulling her to sit down on the sofa. "I'll be right back. Do not move from this spot."

Marley huffs. She does appreciate what her best friend does for her, but Unique is a drama queen at heart; ice cream and teenage romantic comedy marathons are her solution for all things ranging from mildly depressing to full-blown emotional crises. And _A Cinderella Story_ is the most potent tool in her library. Popular jock ending up with the diner girl? Unrealistic but heartwarming.

She hesitates; the plot seems oddly familiar, somehow –

"Before we start consuming all these calories, I need to hear all the details," instructs Unique, re-emerging from the kitchen and handing Marley a spoon. "I must know if losing my figure is worth it."

Her train of thought thoroughly derailed, she obediently peels open the tub of ice cream. "It's not a crisis," grumbles Marley. "I just said something and Quinn took offence. That's all."

"Oh, honey. Have you not been listening to She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named's stories about Quinn Fabray?"

"Not as intently as you, apparently," snipes Marley.

Unique waves her off. "She does _not_ do talking. I mean, that's the main reason Rachel Berry got slushied as much as she did, from what I heard; she talked _wayyy_ too much." Counting off on her fingers, she adds: "Quinn Fabray also does not do major feelings. Especially when it comes to her mistakes. So a combination of the both must've done it." Unique sighs. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry it happened, babe."

Marley thinks back over the summers of their friendship, and shakes her head. "Me too."

"Well then, she's not worth it," says Unique briskly. She starts up the movie, digging into the ice cream.

"For the last time. It is _not_ a break up."

"Hush," says Unique, eyes glued to the television.

* * *

Later that night, Marley gets a text.

 _Hi Marley_ , it reads. _It's Rachel. Unfortunately, there was a last-minute change in schedule and Quinn isn't available to come over to help you decorate the cake tomorrow, so I hope you don't mind if I come over instead. Of course, I'll collect the cake from there. She said 9AM was the prearranged time to be at your house, is that correct? May I have your address, please?_

She's never read a text message that was as unlike a text message as this, so she stumbles on her reply.

 _Thats fine. 1550 Edgewood Drive. I'll see you tomorrow morning Rachel_

* * *

Rachel shows up on her doorstep at nine sharp. Marley is even more on edge than when Quinn was coming over to her house for lemonade and a movie; while she's met Rachel before, she still doesn't know her well enough to be comfortable with her.

"Hi, Rachel," says Marley, opening the door.

Rachel gives her a warm smile. "Hi, Marley. While I'm aware I'm only here in place of Quinn, I took the liberty in bringing you a small token of our gratitude for your help; from one baker to another." She has a small Tupperware in her other hand, which is now offered to Marley.

"Thanks," says Marley, "you didn't have to." She leads the way to the kitchen.

"But I wanted to," responds the older girl, smiling slightly. She sucks in a surprised breath when she sees the unfrosted cake sitting on the kitchen table. "That looks amazing. What is it?"

"Uh, black forest," says Marley. "Quinn didn't know what kind of cake Beth would like, so I suggested chocolate. I, uh, understand that Puck and you were also gonna be there, so I thought black forest would be a little more sophisticated for everyone."

Rachel nods. "That sounds wonderful. Did your mom help bake this? I heard she's quite an accomplished cook and baker."

Marley glances at her sideways, alert for any slight. "No, she was busy yesterday. Quinn helped me."

"I see." Rachel claps her hands together. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Uh, we need to make the icing and frosting first," says Marley, fetching the cream from the fridge, "then I have to cut the cake and add the cherry filling, before we can decorate it."

"I brought some cake toppers, if you don't mind."

Marley shakes her head. "Not at all."

"Excellent." Rachel turns to Marley, expression bright and eager. "Let's get started. Would you happen to have a spare apron I could borrow?"

Rachel's enthusiasm unnerves Marley a little. "Oh, yeah." She gets one from a drawer and hands it to her. "I'll get the mixer started for the icing, okay?"

"Certainly." Rachel finishes tying the apron with a flourish. "What should I do?"

"Combine the cream and sugar, and a dash of vanilla extract." Marley puts the mixer in her hand. "Mix for about fifteen minutes, or until it forms stiff peaks."

"Stiff peaks," repeats Rachel, "got it." She turns to face the bowl with a look of determination, wielding the electric mixer like a weapon, making Marley want to laugh. "My baking repertoire mostly consists of cookies and pies, I don't usually get to make cakes, let alone make icing from scratch."

"It's fine, Rachel," says Marley, feeling lighter for the first time since yesterday. "You keep, uh, doing what you're doing, since it works for you." She does her best to fight back a smile when Rachel pouts in her direction.

When the work is done, Rachel watches, riveted, as Marley covers the entire cake with the frosting, smoothing it evenly with her knife as she spins the cake table. "This is such a useful skill to acquire," she muses aloud.

Marley laughs. "Not really. I picked it up from watching my mom."

"Nevertheless, you should be proud of it." She beams when Marley steps back, and pronounces the cake done. "My turn."

"You do that, then, and I'll start the cleaning." There isn't much to do, but she wants to keep herself occupied. Rachel's one of the people involved in this mess, and she has no desire to offend another person.

But Marley has no luck. "You and Quinn became friends quite a while back, am I correct?" asks Rachel.

"Uh, yeah. When Finn invited her and some other Glee seniors to visit in my sophomore year."

"I see," nods Rachel. She pushes a pink princess toy into the cake. "She said you were at one of Noah's summer parties too, but we must have missed each other."

"Yeah, I was with my friend Unique."

Rachel nods. "I remember her. She's an extremely talented performer. I look forward to seeing her achieve the fame she's destined for." She frowns, and then changes the position of the princess toy. "She was one of Vocal Adrenaline's best finds; Shelby must have been kicking herself that she didn't have the chance to coach her."

"Shelby?"

"Oh – Shelby Corcoran? Has Quinn mentioned her?"

"In passing. She's your birth mother, isn't she?"

Rachel sighs. "Yes. And Beth's adoptive mother."

"That's… complicated." She chooses not to share how much she knows.

Rachel laughs. "Don't I know it? I'm honestly glad that Quinn and I have managed to maintain our friendship despite the incredibly complex familial ties that we find ourselves in." She takes out a bag of edible gold glitter. "Quinn hasn't had an easy time. I admire her greatly, and I've never regretted my decision to pursue our friendship even when she considered me a rival."

"She's very lucky to have you as a friend," offers Marley.

"I could say the same about you, Marley." Rachel fixes her with a surprisingly penetrating look. "She talks about you, too – Quinn isn't the most verbose person around, but at the very least, she's made an effort." She picks up the cake knife to cover up the dent in the frosting. "I'm glad she has you as a friend. Goodness knows Quinn deserves someone like you in her life."

Marley doesn't know what to say.

Rachel smiles ruefully. "I've spoiled the atmosphere, haven't I? This is supposed to be a joyful occasion," she waves with the cake knife, "and we should be talking about joyful things. So, how are you enjoying classes?"

The next hour is spent with more of Rachel's relentless questions about Marley's life, interests, and music, and her – slightly bewildered – answers. As they talk, the cake slowly acquires a wintry landscape inhabited by a princess and her castle, generously sprinkled with glitter.

Rachel claps her hands together suddenly, startling Marley. "Done," she says, examining her handiwork proudly.

"... Looks good." Marley has some purple icing in a bag, and neatly pipes _Happy Birthday_ on the bottom. As she completes the curve of the 'y', it occurs to her that she isn't sure how to spell Beth's name.

Rachel seems to sense her hesitation, because she says: "Beth. B-e-t-h."

She finishes up the icing and goes to hunt for a cake box. When the cake's packed and ready, she hands it to Rachel with a smile. "Here you go."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Really." Marley waves her off. "I'm doing this as a favour to Quinn."

"If you're sure." Rachel loads the cake in the passenger seat of her car, and then – surprisingly – comes back to the house. "I'm a hugger," she warns Marley, "and I'm going to hug you now."

Marley laughs. "I'm well aware," she replies, opening her arms and letting Rachel attack her. She scrunches her face up, hugging Rachel back, until she hears a voice in her ear: "Give her time."

"Huh?"

Rachel pulls away, smiling faintly. "You didn't do anything wrong. She just needs time to get herself together." Her smile fades. "I would know."

"She's talked to you?" The question comes out in a rush, and then she mentally kicks herself. Of course Quinn would've talked to Rachel; Rachel's her best friend, and has known her for much longer.

"As much as Quinn Fabray talks," replies Rachel wryly. "She needs her space. Believe me, she's probably working up the nerve to fix things between you guys. Quinn cares about you a lot."

A pleasant flutter starts in her belly. "I care about her too."

Rachel's smile widens. "I know."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Rachel sends her a photo. Quinn and Puck have a grinning little girl between them (presumably Beth), Marley's heavily-smooshed cake in the foreground. White frosting has somehow made its way over all three faces. _Noah thought it was funny to teach Beth to throw cake_ , writes Rachel.

 _Did evryone get a taste at least?_

 _It was delicious. Beth, Quinn, and Noah say thank you._

* * *

The next few days are busy. There is another small job her mom asks her to help with. Her mom gives her a cut of each catering job as an allowance of sorts; but even if she didn't, Marley would be happy to help. Nevertheless, the money is a bonus; she refuses to take any cash from her mother, and her savings from work are running low.

After that is movie night with Unique, Tina, and Sugar. Then Jake asks her out for minigolf – which is incredibly awkward, because that ship has sailed, and Ryder crashes their not-date anyway. Then Kitty asks to meet at the Lima Bean (which she accepts, against her better judgement).

They're all supposed to be mature adults, and they'll soon be heading back to different parts of the country; Marley reasons that she can sit through one hour.

Being Kitty, she doesn't mince her words. "So. It's been awhile since we left high school."

"Yeah…?"

Kitty stirs her straw through her drink, and directs a coy smile upwards. "You know, I really think we had a good thing going. You and me – it made sense, somehow."

"We got drunk and you kissed me," says Marley flatly. "Then you panicked and told everyone I forced myself on you. What part of that makes you think we had a 'good thing'?"

The other girl has the grace to cringe. "I was scared, okay. It was a difficult time for me. Coming to terms with – you know." She makes a vague gesture. "I'm not like that."

"No, I really don't."

Kitty scoffs. "Oh, come on. Be honest – is this about the puking? Because I get that it was a shitty thing I did, but it's over. You're okay, I'm sorry for what I did. Can we get past that already?"

She pushes her untouched cup away. "I think – this was a mistake. I shouldn't have agreed to meet you. I thought – " Marley cuts herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Hey, hang on a minute."

Quinn chooses this moment to appear, her tote bag slung over one shoulder, clearly here for a reading session. "Is there a problem here, ladies?" she asks coldly, in full head-Cheerio mode.

"Quinn!" Kitty stumbles, but quickly regains her composure. "No, of course not – it's just such a surprise, seeing you here – do you have any plans for today?"

Quinn doesn't even look in Kitty's direction. "As a matter of fact, I do," she says, "I'm meeting Marley for our book club discussion." She finally meets Marley's eyes; after a pause, Marley nods.

"Yeah, we do. Sorry I didn't mention it earlier." She knows Kitty is no fool, and she just knows Kitty is struggling to keep her composure because of Quinn.

"Fine," snaps Kitty with forced cheer. "I'll see you around, Rose." Her voice turns sweet. "Bye, Quinn." She picks up her bag and disappears. Once she's out the door, Quinn takes a step forward.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Marley smiles. "Thanks for showing up when you did. It was starting to get a little… awkward."

Quinn nods. "I don't have to stay if you don't want me to."

"Oh." She remembers then that they had a falling-out of sorts. "Okay. If you have other things to do…"

"I was planning on my book and coffee. As usual."

"Right."

She's never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Marley just wants to apologise for her words when it wasn't her place to say them, and hope things will go back to what they were. She isn't even sure Quinn's ready to talk to her, since they just happened to meet.

Then Quinn clears her throat and says, "I'm sorry."

"For making it weird?" asks Marley with a half-smile.

Quinn didn't crack. "For being a bitch. I wasn't being fair to you; you couldn't have known about me and Beth. It's been a while, but it's still a difficult topic for me."

Marley takes a deep breath. "I think we should sit down first." Partly because she's afraid Quinn will run – judging from the nervous glances towards the exit – but mostly because her knees are all kinds of unsteady.

Quinn acquiesces.

"Quinn. I'm not asking you to tell me everything." She sees the confusion in Quinn's eyes, and hastens to clarify. "We may be friends, but that doesn't mean you're obliged to share personal details that you're not comfortable with talking about." Marley's hands fidget on the table. "That doesn't mean I don't care about you. I just want you to be comfortable, that's all. No obligations, no pressure."

The older girl's shoulders visibly slump. "I was worried you'd want answers," says Quinn. "I guess I've been spending too much time with Rachel."

Marley laughs. "She was the one who told me to give you time and space."

"She's a good friend." The ducking of her head after Quinn says it makes Marley think Quinn's absence might have been intentional. But she's not going to comment; not when they're talking – _really_ talking – again.

She knows Quinn would talk if she could open up. But Marley also knows that Quinn's still incredibly closed off, and so she decides to change the subject. "So, about the book club," she says, reaching into her bag, "I think we should talk about what this new book club thing means."

Quinn's lips curve into a smile; and just like that, they're okay again.

* * *

Much to her surprise, Wade shows up for their standing lunch date instead of Unique. His shirt is buttoned all the way up in spite of the summer heat, he has on his least favourite sweater vest, and the crease of his pants is immaculate.

"Oh, Wade," says Marley.

"Daddy wasn't happy with my friends at Oberlin," he says grimly. "He can't understand why I can only stand to be home for a week of the summer holidays. Accused them of leading me astray." Wade snorts. "The only thing those girls do wrong is contouring; they always look like they've got camo paint on."

She buys him a cinnamon roll. He picks at the glaze tiredly.

"Pack some things," she says after they've eaten, "and come stay over at mine tonight."

* * *

She puts on _She's the Man_ because she knows she'll get a smile out of her best friend, at the very least. Wade – who's upstairs changing because her mother took one look at him when he walked in the door and sent him there – won't be down for a while, so Marley goes to throw together some leftovers from their (well-stocked) fridge for them.

The doorbell rings; she frowns. She wasn't expecting further company, but she knows better than to think that way nowadays after being friends with Quinn.

Quinn has a paper-wrapped book in her hand, which she holds out to Marley. "Sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I figured you wouldn't mind," she explains.

"What is it?" It's definitely a book; softcover, she can tell. It only makes her more curious.

"Open it."

Marley gingerly peels off the tape securing the bag, and pulls out a copy of Rupi Kaur's _Milk and Honey_.

Quinn holds up another bag, looking sheepish. "I was at the bookstore picking up a few titles I'd reserved and saw this; thought you'd like it."

It's clear that Quinn's still trying to make amends for the events surrounding Beth's birthday cake, but Marley doesn't care about that. "Quinn, I… thanks." She slips the book back into the bag, careful not to crease the cover. "I love it." Marley enthusiastically slips her arms around Quinn's middle, squeezing her tightly; she closes her eyes and relishes the feeling of Quinn hugging her back.

"You haven't even read it yet," teases Quinn gently, "haven't you ever heard of not judging a book by its cover?"

She laughs into Quinn's shoulder, pulling back to retort –

"Marl? You're out of conditioner, and I – whoa, I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" Unique, casual in sweats and a T-shirt that reads ' **Strong Women Intimidate Boys… And Excite Men** ', appears in the hallway, blinking. "Quinn Fabray. Wow. Hi."

Quinn lets go of Marley. "Hi. Unique, right? It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She turns to Marley. "Invite her in, or I will. Oh my god."

"Huh?"

"Babe, I adore you, but now's not the time to be adorably confused." Unique turns to Quinn. "Are you gonna stand out there, or are you gonna come in? I'm sure my girl's prepped the movie marathon and gourmet snacks, and they ain't waiting for no one; I had a long day today and I need my creature comforts."

Marley's face sinks into her palm. From between her fingers, she sees Quinn shoot an amused look in her direction, and then say: "Sounds lovely. Let me call my mom and tell her where I am first." Her other hand comes up to join the first when Quinn turns her back, and Unique flashes her a quick thumbs up.

"Oh my god," mutters Marley.

Unique tuts. "Stop being so dramatic, woman. Shut that door, and make us more snacks." She tugs on Marley's wrist until she stops hiding her face in her hands, and stumbles into the living room. "Hmm. _She's the Man_. I approve."

"'Nique! You can't just – she probably has other things to do!" hisses Marley.

"But she didn't, so she's joining us. Besides, I've always wanted to hang out with _the_ Quinn Fabray – _suck_ it, Kitty Wilde – the former HBIC and my best friend's other best friend." Unique wraps her arm around Marley in a half-hug, squeezing briefly. "It's just movies and maybe a sleepover, babe. Don't worry; the third degree comes later."

Marley groans.

Quinn glides into the living room, chatting with an excited Millie. "You didn't tell me Quinn was comin', honey," says Millie almost reprovingly.

"It's not Marley's fault, Mrs. Rose. I'm the one who gatecrashed hers and Unique's movie night," says Quinn smoothly.

"I'm certain I've told you once, if not a thousand times, dear; it's Millie. Are you hungry? I have some red velvet cupcakes." She bustles off to fetch them.

Quinn glances at Marley. "Could you show me where the bathroom is?"

Marley finally snaps out of her daze. "Yeah – of course. Come on up." She goes upstairs, Quinn in tow. "I'm really sorry about Unique," she says, "I mean – I hope you didn't feel obliged to stay, because I really appreciate the book and all, but if you have other plans…"

"Marley," interrupts Quinn patiently, "I'm here because I didn't have any other plans tonight, and I can't think of anything better than hanging out with you and Unique. Besides – you've met my best friend, right? It's only fair I meet yours." With that last parting comment, she disappears into the bathroom.

* * *

She joins them downstairs, taking her place on Marley's other side and accepting the large bowl of tomato herb popcorn Unique passes to her. "Just in time," says Unique happily, playing the movie and making herself comfortable.

"I love this movie," says Quinn.

Unique looks pleased. "Good taste."

"Unique!" says Marley, embarrassed beyond words.

"It's fine." Quinn eats a handful of popcorn. "Good taste in movies is important."

"So is Channing Tatum. Hot _damn_." Unique fans herself.

"I know, right?" Quinn gently nudges her. "How about you? Duke or Justin?"

Marley clears her throat. "Honestly, I've only ever had eyes for Olivia." She's always loved how earnest Olivia is, and how she and Viola interacted.

"Oh, yes." Unique reaches for the tray of potato bites. "She and Viola had a ton of chemistry. But that's what fanfiction is for."

Quinn laughs; Marley is mortified; more so when Unique starts up a running commentary of snark to which Quinn only smiles at. "Sssshhhh," hisses Marley, elbowing Unique, "we're trying to watch."

"Ow! Stop manhandling me." She turns to Quinn. "Some friend. Does she physically abuse you, too?"

"Thankfully, no," replies Quinn, still with the maddeningly wide smile on her lips.

Marley wants to sink into the ground and die, but at the very least Unique shuts up and lets them watch the movie in peace.

* * *

Quinn excuses herself once the movie ends. "I need to go pick Blake up from the airport."

"Oh. Yeah, of course. I didn't know he was coming."

"Me neither," mutters Quinn under her breath.

"Sure! Bye Quinn!" yells Unique cheerfully. Marley makes a mental note to kill her later as she follows Quinn to the front door.

At the door, Quinn stops walking and turns around. "I had fun tonight," she says, "so stop worrying."

Marley smiles back weakly. "I'm not worrying."

"Stop contemplating ways of murdering Unique and burying her body, then."

"I wasn't gonna murder her," says Marley, affronted. "Silence her permanently, maybe," she adds in an undertone.

Quinn arches an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed, but breaks character shortly after when she grins. "Sure thing."

"Uh – have fun with Blake. I mean – I don't know anymore," she mutters. "I'm a mess tonight, I don't even know."

"We all have our off days." Quinn wraps her into a hug. "Thanks for having me. Talk to you later, Marley."

* * *

"Finally."

"Finally, what?"

Unique rolls over to grin unabashedly at Marley, who promptly swings a pillow into her face. "Ow! You bitch!"

"Stop leering at me like that and get to the point!"

"Finally, I get to hang out with your other best friend."

Marley groans. "So what's your verdict, Your Highness?"

"I like her," pronounces Unique. "No seriously," she continues when Marley gives her a look, "she's pretty cool. Most importantly, she treats you the way you ought to be treated."

"If you say so." Internally, Marley thrills that Unique approves of Quinn; Unique was there first, and her approval means a lot. But mostly she tolerates her best friend's antics because she's worried about the reason she had lunch with Wade.

Unique lies on her back, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. "I met a boy. At Oberlin."

The somber tone she uses gives Marley pause. "That's great, 'Nique."

"His name's Andrew, and he's studying biology. He wants to be a high school science teacher, the big dork." Unique shifts. "I was Skyping with my parents when he came over to help me pack my things for the summer, and they had a minor freakout when they found out about me and him."

"Does he…?"

"Yeah. He's totally cool with it."

Marley presses herself into Unique's side.

"The gist of it is that I'm not allowed to be Unique in Lima anymore."

"Oh, babe."

Unique shrugs. "I'm mostly over it. I'm not staying in this cow town anyways; you can bet your bottom dollar that I'm heading out and never looking back once I've got my diploma."

"I know."

"You make it bearable." She entwines her fingers with Marley's. "Best friends forever?"

Marley squeezes back. "Always."

* * *

Marley gets a call right when she's in the middle of helping her mom bake two hundred caramel pecan cookies for a fundraiser; she's about to mute it when she sees that it's Rachel, and excuses herself to take it.

"Hello?"

"Marley, it's Rachel." She's always formal on the phone as though caller ID isn't a thing.

"Hey, Rachel. What's up?"

"It's Quinn." Rachel pauses, and the tiny moment of hesitation causes Marley's nerves to work overtime. "Blake broke up with her."

"... What?"

Rachel exhales. "She's pretty upset about it. Are you free this weekend? We're having a girls' night in; you, me, Santana." For some reason, she omits Brittany; Marley supposes Brittany is on some tour or other, and can't make it.

"Of course," she says. "Thanks for calling me, Rachel."

"Marley, I wouldn't dream of not calling you. Approximately what time will you be here?"

"I need to pick a few things up first. I'll text you when I'm leaving the store."

"Alright. Bye."

She ends the call. Millie is expertly measuring out dry ingredients into a mixing bowl. She doesn't use actual measurements, something that still produces delectable results every time. "You goin' out tonight, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Sleepover at Quinn's place."

At the mention of Quinn's name, Millie brightens. "Oh, Quinn? How is she? Tell her to come for dinner proper; that girl shouldn't just be comin' for a hi and bye. It's been too long since she sat down and had a good square meal. She graduated from school already?"

"She's still in grad school. And maybe later… she just broke up with her boyfriend." The words sit sour on her tongue.

"That's a cryin' shame – on the kid's part, of course. Any man would be lucky to have a girl like our Quinn." Millie grabs a wooden spoon and starts folding in the ingredients. "Then again, you an' me, we're livin' proof we haven't found that man lucky enough to have us, eh?"

Marley smiles. "Yeah, I guess." She washes her hands, fiddles with her apron strings. "Mom, I'm sorry but I gotta go – I need to buy a few things if I'm gonna head over – "

"Of course, of course. You go an' do your own thing, sweetie." Millie waves her off. "Call me later tonight and let me know when you're comin' home tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure. Bye, Mom." She kisses her mother's cheek and heads upstairs to wash up. She isn't sure why she's feeling the way she is – sympathetic, of course, but it's mixed with an anticipation. Which is perverse, because her friend's upset after breaking up with her boyfriend. She certainly didn't feel like this after Ryder was mad at Unique for catfishing him, or when Jake picked Kitty over her.

She doesn't know anymore. There have been so many tumultuous events in their friendship these few weeks alone.

At the store, the clerk asks for her ID – something that normally gets a sigh out of her. She's turning twenty-one soon, and she still looks like a fresh-faced high schooler. Marley barely notices, however; her thoughts are preoccupied with Quinn.

She thought her friend was happy with him – thought being the keyword, as Quinn had never talked about him to her. All the same, Marley's thankful for Rachel, and her understanding of Quinn.

She hopes that one day, she'll be privileged with the same.

* * *

She arrives with cheap vodka in tow, which is gladly welcomed by Santana. "You even got the least disgusting brand of the lot! You got good taste, Baby Rachel," compliments Santana, who looks like she's already wasted.

"Baby Rachel?" She doesn't know how to respond; this is Santana 'Snix' Lopez, and the last time they talked, she gave Marley tips on improving her sex appeal that still make her blush to this day.

The real Rachel appears from the kitchen. "Ignore her," she says, rolling her eyes and taking the vodka from Santana, "she thinks she's hilarious."

Santana pouts. "But I am," she whines.

"Yeah, yeah." Rachel ignores her, smiling at Marley. "I'm so glad you came. Quinn is too." She puts out her arms for a hug.

"Where is she?"

"We think she's trying to drown herself in the shower," interrupts Santana. Rachel sighs.

"She went to freshen up. She'll be out shortly; you can go up if you want," says Rachel, glaring at Santana. "We'll pick out a movie while we wait."

Marley nods. "Okay." As she leaves, she eyes them contemplatively as they start to bicker about movie choices, and "you put a musical in there, Rachel Berry, and I will ends you". Rachel just scoffs in the face of danger and throws out another movie title that sparks its own reaction.

She's only been inside Quinn's house a handful of times, enough to remember where Quinn's room is. She knocks on the door, gets no answer, then remembers Quinn's still in the shower and probably can't hear her. She lets herself in.

Quinn's room seems frozen in time – which makes sense, considering she doesn't live here anymore. The photo collage on the wall stops chronologically at Quinn's high school graduation. A photo of Glee club members in red robes and matching mortarboards takes up the lower left corner.

The only sign that this room is currently being occupied is the suitcase in the corner, and the books on the nightstand – and a fresh box of tissues.

She knocks on the bathroom door. "Quinn? It's me."

The sound of running water stops. "I'll be out in ten," comes the muffled reply.

Waiting period defined, Marley searches for something to occupy herself with. She gravitates towards the bookshelf. A Philippa Gregory novel catches her eye, and she pulls it out to read the summary. Next is Nasim Taleb's _Antifragile_ (which looks to be in pristine condition). George Eliot's _Silas Marner_.

The door clicks open. "Hey," says Quinn, who's wrapped up in a towel. "Give me a few secs to get my clothes." She goes over to the closet on the side.

Marley can only nod. Her face burns, which is laughable, considering how many sleepovers she's had with Brittany and Sugar. She's seen a lot more nudity than what the large white towel reveals. Her eyes stay trained on the first page of _Silas Marner_ as the sounds of rummaging go on in the background.

Eventually, Quinn re-emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed. She still looks tired, flopping face-up on the bed beside Marley.

"Hi." Marley lowers her head to Quinn's shoulder, draping an arm around her in a hug. She hates how Quinn looks like a wreck. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Quinn presses her nose into Marley's neck. "I should've seen it coming. It was too perfect, and I should've guessed…" She trails off, looking lost.

Marley takes her hand and gives it a fierce shake. "He isn't worth it," she says fiercely, and Quinn blinks. "He's a jerk."

"You barely know him." She has a point. They all met up infrequently whenever their busy schedules permitted, and Marley has hardly any interaction time with Blake in those outings.

She wasn't impressed by what she saw in those brief moments, though, but keeps it to herself. "Well, I'm on your side regardless," says Marley. She gets up. She keeps a tight hold of Quinn's hand, so the older girl's pulled up. Quinn protests vociferously throughout. "Come on. Let's go downstairs, and you can pick a movie so Rachel and Santana won't kill each other."

Quinn sighs. "Are they still fighting?"

"When I left them, they were bickering and Santana was reaching for a throw pillow. Is that what it is?"

"For them, yes." She rolls her eyes. "It's like foreplay or something. Thank god they hated each other in high school otherwise we might not have survived the hormones."

She stumbles over herself. "But that… they…?" Marley knows Santana's a lesbian, but she had no inkling Rachel was anything other than straight as a ruler. Her confusion must show, because Quinn says: "You don't know they're dating? Because they are."

"I do now."

Her friend laughs abruptly. "I had pretty much the same reaction when they told me, don't worry. Like, if you had told me back in high school that Santana would be dating Rachel _fucking_ Berry, I'd have laughed until all my teeth fell out."

She sees the flash of pain in Quinn's eyes, and suddenly understands why Brittany dropped out of this particular circle of her friends.

There's a loud yelp from downstairs, followed by the sounds of a struggle, a screech (which sounds like Rachel), and then silence. Quinn heaves another sigh. "Come on, let's go make sure they haven't killed each other." Her grip on Marley's hand tightens, and she leads the way downstairs.

Another screech greets them as they arrive in the living room. Rachel, panting, lies sprawled on the couch; Santana is climbing off her with a DVD case clutched triumphantly in her hand. Both look considerably more disheveled than from when Marley left them.

"It's settled, Q, we're watching _Cabin in the Woods_ ," says Santana. Rachel squeaks but makes no other intelligible sound.

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Isn't that a horror movie?"

In lieu of a reply, Santana slots the DVD into the player, flinging herself onto the couch (and landing on an unfortunate Rachel who hasn't had time to move). Marley decides to avoid that hot mess altogether and takes the armchair on the side.

"Scoot over," commands Quinn, standing in front of her.

Marley gapes at her. "There's an empty chair over there," she points.

"Don't be ridiculous." Quinn wedges herself in between Marley and the side of the chair primly. "I'm not about to sit by myself during a horror movie. Besides, there's plenty of room." She's right, of course – the armchairs are wide and overstuffed – but it is a close fit, and after what she saw earlier, all Marley can think of is Quinn's body against hers.

 _Enchanted_ starts playing. Rachel claps her hands together gleefully, and kisses Santana's cheek. "You bitch," says Quinn, aiming a kick at Santana's shin, "you said it was a horror movie."

"Yeah, well, so I lied," replies Santana nonchalantly. "You gonna hold it against me?"

Quinn flips the bird at her, but makes no move to leave the chair; instead, she turns her attention to the movie. Halfway through, she rests her head against Marley's shoulder. Marley feels drowsy and content, comfortable despite the cramped conditions.

* * *

Sleeping arrangements aren't in question because Rachel's commandeered the mattress from the guest room and wedged it on the floor.

Quinn takes one look at Santana, and points at Marley. "You can share my bed," she says, "the two shortest should be able to fit on one mattress."

Rachel squeaks indignantly. "You're not _that_ much taller, Quinn."

"My house, my bed, my rules. Besides, look at me and Marley; we'll be miserable tomorrow morning if we have to squeeze onto that mattress."

"Didn't seem much of a problem earlier," Marley hears Santana mutter.

"What?"

"Nothing." Santana, unsurprisingly, doesn't have anything to complain about their sleeping arrangements. She flings herself on the mattress after snagging the choicest pillows from Quinn's bed.

"I don't want either of you on my bed anyway."

"Like I'm gonna fuck Berry in front of all of you, like I'm an exhibitionist or whatever shit."

" _Santana Lopez_!"

Marley gets under the covers and sighs, gradually tuning out the bickering. It's been a long and confusing day. The bed is warm and comfortable, though, and despite sharing it with someone she's been having confusing feelings about all evening, Marley feels like she can drift off immediately…

Quinn shifts on the other end. It's dark, and quiet. Despite the bed being queen-sized, there's enough room between them to fit another person.

* * *

Marley wakes early. She doesn't know where she is for a brief moment; then Quinn sighs beside her, and she remembers.

Over the night, the gap between their bodies has shrunk considerably. Quinn's on her side, facing Marley, body loose in her sleep. There's a tissue clenched in her hand.

Marley frowns. She could have sworn the tissue wasn't there when they fell asleep. Marley's worried about her friend, but also terrified of overstepping her bounds – this, in spite of their friendship. The Beth incident lingers at the back of her mind.

Quinn's brow is unfurrowed when she's asleep. It's heartening, she thinks, to see her relaxed, especially in the light of her break-up. Marley doesn't dare move; her head inclines a little so she can see more of Quinn's face. Quinn Fabray is undeniably attractive, aesthetically speaking. But now, unburdened by the world and its expectations, Marley thinks she is beautiful.

She blushes when she realises she's been watching Quinn sleep for a while, like a creeper or a _Twilight_ character. Marley slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Quinn.

Santana is barely visible from her nest of pillows on the floor – her face obscured by Rachel, who's also still sound asleep, curled up into her side. She'd attribute it to the girl's natural clinginess, except she spots Santana's possessive hand on Rachel's waist, keeping her close.

Outside is quiet. She navigates a yet-unfamiliar place and finds the coffeemaker. Luckily, it's a relatively idiot-proof model that takes her ten minutes to learn. A brief search turns up the coffee and the mugs, and within minutes the only sound is the gentle burble of boiling water.

"Coffee," rasps a voice. Marley jumps, startled.

Still bleary, Quinn doesn't appear to have noticed the effect her appearance had on Marley. She makes a beeline for the kitchen table and pulls out a seat, still in the clothes she slept in.

Marley takes no offence. Quinn isn't a morning person, especially without the influence of caffeine. She watches, amused, as Quinn's scrunched-up expression begins to soften when the smell of coffee grows stronger.

When the percolating stops, Marley pours the coffee into two mugs (one with a spoonful of sugar and plenty of milk, the other with lots of both). The first mug is set in front of Quinn, who immediately wraps her hands around it.

Marley takes a sip of her own and winces. She's not a big fan of coffee being that it's too bitter for her tastes, but she'll drink frappuccinos and other such drinks.

Quinn, by this stage halfway through her coffee and therefore more cognizant of her surroundings, laughs at her. "Still not a coffee fan?"

"Nope." She adds another lashing of milk and sugar, sips again, and nods grimly.

"How have you survived this long in college without caffeine?"

She shrugs. It's a genuine mystery, what with juggling shifts with school. Marley attributes it to willpower and the genuine fear of being late with her share of the rent.

Finishing her coffee, Quinn stands and washes her cup (with an amused smile and shake of the head at Marley's half-full cup on the way). "Are you hungry?" she asks, drying her hands on the dish towel. "We don't have to wait for them."

"I'm good. Where's your mom?"

Quinn shrugs. "In Minnesota."

Marley recognizes the code, and drops the subject. "Shall we go out, then? I have a craving for Denny's pancakes."

It does the trick; Quinn's expression lightens considerably. "Me too. Let's go, then."

* * *

Quinn falls back into a contemplative mood for the trip to Denny's (a forbidden pleasure, Marley understands, given Rachel's vegetarianism and overall healthy lifestyle).

Marley has learned her lesson. She waits it out.

"Have you seen Britt lately?" asks Quinn just after they've ordered.

"A couple of months ago." Unique made the journey up to the city, bringing unexpected guests Brittany and Tina. They all squeezed into her tiny room, giggling madly, for the weekend; much to her roommates' amusement.

"How is she?"

"She's doing okay. She told us she's moving to LA to take up a dance instructor position." She had also seemed a little wistful as she shared the news, but followed it by saying that Lord Tubbington would be moving with her to start his own gourmet coffee business.

Quinn sighs. It's very clear whose side she took when Santana and Brittany broke up – and that she had no choice in that matter. "That's good. I'm glad for her."

"Yeah."

"I love Brittany. But she… the night they broke up, she pulled me aside and told me to choose Santana." She runs a hand through her hair. "I couldn't understand it at the time. But now, I guess I do. They were best friends first; Britt's always known Santana better than she knows herself."

Marley doesn't really follow, but she nods for Quinn to continue.

"Santana doesn't trust easily; she's been let down before. She's surrounded herself with walls and uses her sarcasm to stop people from getting too close – much like me, really." She gives a short laugh. "But Rachel has a way of breaking those walls down, and now they're dating." Quinn snorts. "Unbelievable how life turns out; you know, I slept with Santana in our freshman year or college."

"What?"

"We were drunk, single, and horny. She was trying to get over Brittany – again – and I was trying to get over Rachel."

" _What_?" To be honest, she's still processing the first revelation when the second hits her like a runaway freight train. She can only gape at her friend.

Never in a million years would she have imagined Quinn would like girls that way, let alone act on those feelings. Unbidden, the thought _What is it with repressed blonde Glee club cheerleaders?_ comes to mind, and she snorts.

"What?" asks Quinn, laughing herself.

"No, nothing – just, Kitty got drunk and kissed me once." Marley shakes her head. "She panicked and pretended it didn't happen, until last week, when she told me she was interested in starting over with me."

"Is that what happened? I thought she was bullying you again."

"Not exactly," admits Marley. "She was offended I didn't want to try. Thank you for saving me again, by the way."

Quinn glances at her. "You're welcome. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"I'm over it, really. But we're digressing. You and Rachel?"

She looks sheepish. "I had the biggest crush on Rachel throughout high school. Classic repressed bully. It took me a while to get over myself and accept that I wasn't gonna marry the high school football team captain and quarterback – though, Rachel looked great in the uniform."

Marley just stares at her. "Okay. You're completely blowing my mind right now."

"I have photos, if you're interested," says Quinn, reaching for her phone.

"Please." Though she looks at the pictures, making the appropriate sounds when Quinn adds comments or clarifications, part of her thoughts remain fixed on Quinn and the constant surprises the girl throws her way.

Not for the first time, she wonders how deep the rabbit hole goes.

* * *

Santana scowls at them when they get back. "You didn't even have the decency to wake us up? Bitch."

Quinn doesn't bat an eyelid; she sets two takeout containers on the dining table. Santana browses through like a starving animal and sighs happily.

"Grand Slam with extra sausage. I love you, Q."

"How quickly your tone changes," smirks Quinn, handing Rachel her fruit salad and getting a wide beam in thanks. "Meanwhile, how's your hangover? I seem to recall you drinking nearly all the vodka Marley brought."

"Oh, _much_ better, after Rachel did that thing I like with her mouth on my – "

"Santana," warns Rachel, "another word and I'm cutting you off until further notice."

"Babe, I was only joking."

"Well, _I_ wasn't _only joking_ about cutting you off." Rachel smiles beatifically, and kisses a shocked Santana's cheek. "Eat your breakfast, sweetheart, before it gets cold."

Marley notices Quinn watching the banter closely, an odd look on her face. She rests her hand on Quinn's knee, squeezing gently.

She's gratified when Quinn smiles back.

* * *

With Quinn, Marley now knows to wait it out. Her patience is rewarded when Quinn shows up on her doorstep uninvited the very next day. "Hey."

Marley leans in her doorway, grinning. "Presumptuous of you to assume I don't have plans, Fabray."

"It's you. I can make a pretty good guess."

"You're terrible. I don't even know why we're friends." Marley steps aside to let her in and yells to her mother that Quinn's here, and they'll be in her room. She closes the door behind them.

Quinn sprawls on Marley's bed; Marley is quick to join her. They lie elbow-to-elbow, legs dangling off the edge.

She'll wait until Quinn initiates conversation. That's the way she's learned, how this friendship works. Much like the night at Puck's party, Marley offers her support and understanding with a comfortable silence that demands only what Quinn chooses to give.

It seems, though, that Quinn isn't in a giving mood at all, let alone an opening-up mood. She stares up at the ceiling, tight-lipped.

Marley reaches for her phone and earbuds. She holds one out to Quinn, who pops it into her ear with a soft smile.

After about six songs, Marley notices Quinn has tears streaming down her face. She presses tissues into Quinn's hand. "It's gonna be okay," she whispers, sitting up to tug the earbud out of Quinn's ear and to enfold her in a hug.

Quinn opens her mouth, lets out a choked sob, presses her knuckle to her lips – until Marley rubs at the back of her hand with a thumb. "Don't hold it in," she says quietly. "You're okay."

And she bows her head, lets the tears fall. Marley doesn't hold her tight, just lets her rest her forehead against her collarbone; her hands rest at Quinn's shoulders. She's mindful to give Quinn her space by not trapping her in a hug; she's always hated how suffocated she felt in other people's arms.

But she's not distant. Now and then, Marley strokes Quinn's hair, whispers soothingly in her ear, rubs her back. She doesn't let up even as Quinn fists her shirt in both hands and cries harder.

Marley has a fleeting thought that not all the tears are for Blake. But that's all it is; a thought, and her attention goes back to the girl in front of her.

* * *

Shadows lengthen. Quinn's shoulders have stopped heaving, but her face is still buried in Marley's shoulder, and her hands grip at Marley's shirt. Marley has her arms looped loosely around Quinn's waist.

"Feel better?"

Quinn mumbles something into Marley's shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Yeah. Thanks," she says, sounding hoarse.

Impulsively, Marley turns her head to press a kiss to the side of Quinn's head. "You never have to thank me for being here."

* * *

"You've been neglecting me," complains Unique loudly and lets herself into Marley's house.

"What? No, I haven't." Marley trails after Unique, confused.

"Lies. You've been spending every free moment with your best friend Quinn." Unique's lips twitch and give the game away.

Marley chooses not to answer. "It's not like you have tons of free time anyway. I'm not the one who blew off Skype to talk to _Andrew_."

Unique tries to keep her poker face but it wobbles at the mention of the name. "He was only there to comfort me in my time of need."

"And a lot more, I'm sure. Time of need… blatant lies."

"You just wish you had someone to cuddle up to."

"Why are we friends again?" Marley laughs despite her words, and flops into Unique's side. She starts up the movie.

"Separation anxiety." Unique reaches for a handful of popcorn.

Marley just snorts.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Chapter title comes from _Bird on the Wire_ by the late, great Leonard Cohen. Extended author's notes and further meta about this story can be found on my Tumblr; I'm **yumi-michiyo** there.


	5. Part Four

**Part Four:** _When the winter's in full swing and your dreams just aren't coming true_

* * *

So, this is the year she's gonna figure things out.

Somehow she's made it to senior year and only now she's finally gotten the hang of the entire college business – just in time to start panicking about entry into working life.

Marley hasn't decided what to do with herself yet. She'll go wherever a job's offered, but somehow the idea of another place apart from New York or Lima doesn't register. So it stands to reason that she should ask for advice from older (and hopefully wiser) friends.

"When did you guys figure it out?" she asks idly as she works her way through a huge stack of internship applications. "Careers, life, the whole thing."

Quinn, Rachel, and Santana take turns to exchange comical looks, then burst into laughter.

"What?" asks Marley, baffled. "What did I say?"

"You never actually figure it out," says Santana, wiping a tear from her eye. "Ever. Unless you're Streisand here; then you come out of the womb with the mike clutched in your hand."

Rachel wrinkles her nose. "That was such a pleasing mental image, Santana; thank you for that."

"You're welcome."

Quinn leans forward. "She's right, Marley. Whoever decided eighteen was old enough to make massive life decisions was crazy."

"Like attempting to get married before graduating high school," interjects Rachel tiredly.

Santana and Quinn exchange a look over Rachel's head. "No one said that."

"You all thought it. I've always been a little psychic." Then she smirks; realization dawns over the faces of the other two. Quinn rolls her eyes, jabs a smirking Rachel in the side. "This is all your fault," she directs at Santana, "she was never this annoying before."

"Excuse you! Have you forgotten how she was in high school? She was plenty annoying on her own, bitch; if anything, I've been a mellowing influence on her." Santana shudders. "Ugh. I can't believe you made me say that."

Marley looks on, lost in her own thoughts. She's still processing the fact that Quinn had a crush on Rachel _and_ slept with Santana. And yet, there seems to be none of the awkwardness that accompanies such high-level drama – she, Ryder, and Jake can barely interact normally and theirs was a basic love triangle.

Across from her, the conversation has degenerated into lazy bickering. Even though Santana called Rachel an annoying hobbit, and Rachel responded by saying that Santana is psychotic, the expressions on their faces are lazy, almost relaxed.

Quinn groans. "They're at in again. Seriously, those two are weird."

Marley shrugs. "Oh," she says, tapping her pen on the paper, "this asks for a brief self-intro. How do I do this?"

"Okay, pass it here."

"Where are you applying?" asks Rachel.

Marley shrugs. "All over."

Much to her surprise, Rachel nods approvingly. "Good, you ought to keep your options open," she says brightly. For someone who's had the narrowest life goals for the longest time, her advice is surprisingly general. Marley says so, and gets laughed at.

"What? Okay, as a Broadway performer, my skillset is highly narrow and focused, I'll be the first to admit. But in the early days, I wished I'd done some other normal things. Working at a newspaper, for example. Or a temp office job. It would've been fun."

Santana scowls. "Yeah, what she said, but you have gotta make opportunities for yourself. Like me. I haven't got my big break yet, but being a session singer pays the bills, and I spin a few gigs at night. I gots my name out there; it's just a matter of time."

Rachel smiles at her. "I know, baby. You'll make it one day, your music is wonderful; besides, I don't think I can be with someone who isn't as successful as I will be…" She cuts herself off with a laugh when Santana scowls at her.

"Don't be afraid to take a chance," says Quinn. And of course, she knows all about taking chances. The woman's just graduated with her Masters from Columbia, and there is no shortage of jobs being offered.

Marley looks at all three of them. "Okay," she says.

When the applications go out, they aren't just confined to record labels and studios; she applies to music magazines and night schools and even summer programs and bootcamps. She has enough saved up if she thinks she might want to join a workshop to work on some other part of her – _skillset_ , as Rachel insists it be called.

* * *

Unique's enthusiasm for everything New York has pretty much assured Marley that her best friend will be headed to the big city after graduation.

"Oh, and that has nothing to do with _Andrew_ ," teases Marley. She's kidding, of course – Unique is the toughest, most independent person she knows – but the look of horror on Unique's face is always fun.

"Please, girl; he's the one packing up and following me to the city. That man just wants to teach, and he says he can do that anywhere in the world." She breaks into a smile, and Marley laughs.

"You're smitten."

"Completely. Can you blame me?"

She really can't. Unique brought him to New York for spring break, and Andrew succeeded in winning Marley over. She likes him, and loves him for Unique. "Nope," she says. "One of these days he's gonna reveal himself as some sleeper agent for the KGB or something, and then assassinate the president. At least we'll know he had a reason for being as nice and normal as he is."

"I used to wish that, but I'm starting to enjoy my nice and boring life with Andrew." Then Unique gets distracted talking about some of the internships and programs she's signed up for.

* * *

Marley hears through the grapevine that Kitty dropped out of OSU after getting pregnant, married her baby's father, and moved back to Lima.

She doesn't feel darkly triumphant (like Unique happily professes to be); just sad. She's never been the person who delights in others' downfall.

* * *

Just before her summer starts proper, the responses start trickling in. Marley picks the most miraculous one, the record label in New York, that was her dream position right from the start. The position itself differs little from the pack; like most internships, it involves a lot of long hours, coffee runs, and drudgery. But it's in her industry, it looks good on her resume, and she gets a taste of working life.

Rachel gets an odd little look on her face when she hears. "Marley, the internship is with Atlantic Records."

"Yeah?"

"That's under the Warner Music group."

Santana's jaw drops open. "You're shitting me." She pushes past Rachel to peer at the email. "No fucking way. I didn't know you're that good, Rose! You gots to put in a good word for me when you make it big, 'kay?"

Quinn smiles. "I'm so proud of you."

* * *

This year, their summers don't overlap. Marley spends a week in Lima, and the rest of her vacation is spent back in New York working, to earn a little more cash before her internship starts. Her professors want her to start assembling a professional portfolio in preparation for graduation.

Quinn has a little time before she starts her new job at a small publishing house, so she goes on a graduation trip with her Columbia friends. She's not planning on going back to Lima at all, as she's making arrangements to move to her new apartment. It seems odd that Rachel didn't include Quinn in her moving plans like she did last year, and Marley says so.

Quinn shakes her head with a laugh. "I'm moving in with Halley, Nicky, and Ed," she says, naming the friends from Columbia she went on holiday with.

"You are? Not that they aren't great, but – you've lived with Rachel and Santana for years now."

"They've decided they want their own place. Together."

"Ah." Marley still doesn't know what to say about Rachel and Santana dating. She's Brittany's friend – all of them are friends with each other, it's horribly complicated – but she can see how happy Santana is with Rachel. "They seem good for each other."

"They are, somehow," nods Quinn, "Rachel keeps Santana muzzled, and Santana mellows out Rachel's crazy."

"Don't let them hear you say that."

Their takeout order is finally ready. On the walk back, Quinn tells her: "You know, I applied to Yale in the first place because of Rachel."

"She forced you to apply?" asks Marley jokingly.

Quinn arches an eyebrow, chooses to ignore her. "She was the one who never stopped telling me I could do anything I wanted." She pauses at a crosswalk. "I was resigned to staying in Lima for good because I'd ruined everything, but she… she's _persistent_ , to put it lightly. You know how she is."

"Yeah."

"She practically harassed me to know what were my plans after graduation. What schools I'd applied to. She even offered to share an apartment with me if I planned on going to New York for college." She smiles at the memory. "So I applied to Yale to spite Rachel – close enough to visit, but far enough that I'd have space from her."

"And Santana?"

Quinn makes a face. "She actually got a cheerleading scholarship at Louisville, but she decided it wasn't for her. Rachel told me she just showed up at their apartment and made herself at home." She smirks and adds, "I'm pretty certain she only signed up for business courses at the local community college because Rachel badgered her into it when they started dating."

Marley sighs. "Did she say why she decided to come to New York? Was it because of…?"

"She'll never admit it, but probably. Yes. It hurt her bad when Britt started dating Sam." Brittany and Sam are ancient history by the time they all graduated from high school. The last she heard from Unique, _Finn Hudson_ , of all people, had moved out to LA to be with her. Glee club is a giant incestuous tangle, and it hurts her head to try and understand it. "The relationship they had didn't do well with long-distance, and I guess they moved on to other people."

Marley nods. She can tell the conversation is taking a deeply personal turn, and she shifts the topic to moving, offering her services to Quinn, which the latter finds amusing.

"You? Lift heavy boxes?" Laughing, she prods Marley's arm.

"I'm stronger than I look," she insists, striking a ridiculous pose.

"I don't doubt that," says Quinn, still smiling. "If you insist, I'll buy you food."

"Deal."

* * *

She puts on her uniform, and grabs the apron, looping the ties around her waist for extra security, before fastening it with a slip knot. Beside her, a younger employee fumbles; she guides her through the motions, and congratulates her upon successfully securing the apron.

She feels old. It wasn't that long ago when she was the nervous junior employee being taught how to tie an apron.

They have another half-hour to opening. Oscar, who's unlocking the cash register, throws his hands up in the air when she approaches him, envelope in hand.

"No!" he exclaims. "No, no! What is it this time?"

Marley rolls her eyes, huffing a laugh. "Oscar," she says, putting a hand on a hip, "you've known this day was coming for a long time now."

"Is it the school holidays? I've told you we can work with that."

"I'm starting an internship! After that, I'll be getting a real job."

"You break my heart. Twenty-three years managing the finest Italian restaurant in town, and she says it's not a real job." Oscar sighs. "Fine, fine. Give it." He takes the envelope and shoves it in the back pocket of his trousers. "I will miss you. You're so much better than all those silly girls and boys who come to the big city to chase their dreams of being a star. They're here because it pays the bills! Who chases being a restaurant manager? Nobody but me."

Marley laughs. "I'm not quitting just yet, that was my two-week notice."

"And you think two weeks are enough to make another one of you?" Oscar claps a meaty hand on her upper arm. "You will come back. Work a bit. Maybe you come back to eat too. As long as you don't forget us." He glances at the far side of the restaurant. "Philip! We use newspaper on the glass!" He turns back to Marley, an aggrieved expression on his face. "You see?"

"I get it." Smiling, she goes over to help the poor confused boy, who's staring at the cleaning cloth in his hand in bewilderment.

* * *

She arrives after her shift ends, already dressed down in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and worn jeans. The ubiquitous newsboy cap gets stuck into her bag, and her hair is put into a messy bun. Quinn greets her on the sidewalk. "Hey," she says, wrapping an arm around Marley's shoulders. "Glad you came. You're just in time for the heavy lifting."

A burly black man walks past with a large box in his arms. "Good, I could use a break." He puts it down, wipes his hands on the seat of his pants, and offers one to Marley. "I'm Edgar, call me Ed."

She shakes it. "Marley."

"Over there's Halley," Quinn points to a swearing woman in a _hijab_ , "and Nicky." The skinny guy waves tiredly when he hears his name.

"Hello, Quinn's hired labour," he says, and Marley giggles. "Help me, my arms are falling off."

Halley marches over. "Quinn, for the love of God, stop flirting and – oh." She offers an awkward handshake as Nicky guffaws; Marley tries not to blush. "Hello. Marley, I presume?"

"Yep."

"You're a bitch, Halimah."

"Shut it, Fabray, people make mistakes. Especially since my deduction was based on previous experience."

She likes Quinn's friends already – though, she likes Quinn, so it's not such a big jump in logic to assume she'll like her taste in friends. "You're Halley, right?" Marley interrupts, cutting Quinn and Halimah off mid-squabble.

"Short for Halimah, but that's what people I don't like call me." She grins at Marley. "Come, come, get a box. We only just unloaded everything off the trucks, now we need to wait for the super to give us the keys so we can haul everything up. I hope you brought your muscles."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I hate all of you," she says, looping her arm through Marley's, leading her to a pile of boxes marked with her name.

"Says the woman who went through New York's apartment listings and was the first to sign the lease," says Nicky aside to Marley.

"I heard that!"

He makes a face. "Welp."

Marley smiles. She feels comfortable among these people; partly because they seem nice, mostly because she can focus on her work and doesn't actually have to talk to them. She hefts a box marked _Fragile_ , careful to check that it's the right way up, and follows Ed into the lobby.

The apartment itself is spacious and airy, making it seem a lot bigger than it is; perfect for housing four people. Halley has her hands on her hips as she surveys the space, directing her friends like an air traffic controller.

"My room's the second door on the left," says Quinn, who's materialized behind her with another box. Marley lets her lead the way.

The room is modest in size ("I drew the short straw," remarks Quinn). The movers already shifted the larger pieces of furniture in – a bed, nightstand, dresser, bookshelves, and a desk – so all that's left is to unpack. "Put that in the corner."

It takes a short time to process. Most of the room is packed with boxes, and there's only one relatively uncluttered corner. Marley puts it down and turns to take Quinn's box from her, wrinkling her nose at its weight.

"You shouldn't be carrying boxes this heavy."

"It's fine," says Quinn dismissively. "It was years ago, and the doctors've cleared me for any strenuous physical activity."

"Strenuous, you say?" Nicky comes into the room with another of Quinn's boxes. "Do us a favour and buy us earplugs for when your new gentlemen callers stay over, then." He sets it down in the corner, examines it briefly, then sits himself on it.

"Fuck you, Nicky."

"Which raises an interesting question, really; if two of the four lease signers are in a relationship, do they have to pay a larger share of the rent for the biggest bedroom they will inevitably need?"

Quinn doesn't answer. She merely grunts and turns on her heel, disappearing outside. Nicky chuckles.

"Our Quinn's the most eloquent one in this house most of the time, really – remarkable, given how she just conducted herself."

Marley shrugs. She feels bad for being amused at Quinn's expense, but Nicky's genuinely funny, and he seems determined to make her feel at ease. "To be fair, lease and rent renegotiations aren't something I would want to think about when I'm just moving in."

"Fair." Nicky stands up, wiping his hands on the seat of his pants. "I see why you two are friends now," he says as he wanders off downstairs.

* * *

With five people hauling, it takes a relatively short time for them to get everything off the kerb and into their respective rooms; unpacking, however, is another kettle of fish altogether.

Marley mops her forehead and checks the time on her phone. "What were you guys planning for dinner?"

Halley looks bleary. "Uh, takeout? I dunno."

"Dibs on Chinese," chimes in Ed.

"Mexican!"

"Guys, we had Mexican yesterday. You cannot be serious."

"Um, we aren't all Nicky, and we can find something to eat other than beef quesadillas."

"Fuck you all. I eat other foods too."

Marley watches the back-and-forth exchange with increasing dismay. Even when stressed beyond belief, she's always made time to eat well. Quinn seems to notice the expression on her face, and ends the bickering with a curt, I-am-the-Head-Bitch-in-Charge, "Shut up, everyone! I can't hear myself think."

The other three stop and stare at her.

"Marley and I will go get sandwiches," she says, placing a gentle hand on Marley's shoulder, "which are non-greasy, nutritionally-balanced, and filling. Bonus, you three lazy creatures don't need to leave the house."

"That works," says Halley. Ed and Nicky look at each other, back at Quinn, and shrug.

"Cool."

"Sounds good."

"I'm glad we could compromise," says Quinn, voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're going to Defonte's in five, so text me your sandwich orders." She turns to Marley, and her tone softens. "I'm gonna change first. Do you need a shower?"

Marley shakes her head. "I'm good."

"Great. Give me a minute."

While she waits, Marley goes over to the largest window in the apartment. The background noises of packing tape ripping, people's voices, and rustling of things being lifted out of boxes fade as she contemplates the view.

She shouldn't be this affected. She has no problems with food now, after years of counselling. Definitely not takeout food, or people eating takeout food, or people eating. She doesn't understand why she feels antsy and unsettled, though.

"Marl?" The nickname filters into her personal space; she turns to look into concerned hazel eyes. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she says with a smile. She rests a hand on Quinn's upper arm; part reassurance, part gesture for her to move so she can get her phone. "Let's go, then? I think your friends are starving."

Once downstairs, Quinn seems to lapse into pensive silence as she often does, though she doesn't appear to be as off in her own space as normal. If anything, she seems hyper-aware of Marley; her fingers on the younger girl's elbow warn her that the pedestrian crossing isn't ready, and a gentle tug on the tail of Marley's shirt guides her out of the path of an oncoming cyclist.

Marley gets it. Quinn isn't pressuring her to open up, but she is relentless in making Marley know she is cared for. It's a tactic she's employed in the past when dealing with Quinn.

At Defonte's, Marley picks the avocado, roast beef, and salad on wholewheat after being assured of its deliciousness. Quinn refuses to let her pay for a single thing, and they leave shortly after their sandwiches have been packed.

Outside, a hand catches her sleeve. "I feel like an ice cream," says Quinn, her gaze finding Marley's and holding it. "Walk with me?"

"Ice cream? In May?"

Quinn shrugs. "A craving's a craving. C'mon, I know a good place nearby that's better than whatever we got in Lima."

It's not an invitation. It's a command, but Marley is happy to comply. She nods, smiling when Quinn does, and lets Quinn catch her hand to lead her where they're supposed to go.

* * *

The exterior is much like Harlan's Ices back in Lima, but the selection of flavours inside is more extensive and interesting. Marley doesn't even have to fake her enthusiasm as she asks the girl behind the counter if she can try the dark chocolate raspberry ripple, and then the butter pecan, then the peanut butter jelly surprise…

Eventually, she does settle for a single scoop of the raspberry – which Quinn _also_ pays for, much to Marley's displeasure.

"You carried heavy boxes all afternoon. The least I could do is buy you dinner and a dessert," says Quinn. She has a simple chocolate fudge for herself. They aren't going to manage ice creams on top of five sandwiches and bottled drinks, so Quinn sits at a small corner table. Marley follows.

By this point, the weight of the silence is too much for Marley. "I'm sorry," she says, "for being weird back there. I guess I'm not used to other people's eating habits, which really isn't any of my business, and I don't understand why I reacted that way."

Quinn, who's waited patiently for Marley to finish speaking, sets down her plastic spoon. "I don't care about that."

"Huh?"

She shrugs. "I really don't. I just didn't want to listen to them arguing; I'm hungry and tired, and I wanted sandwiches." She looks down at her cup. "And ice cream."

A surprised giggle bubbles out of Marley.

"Just because life's complicated doesn't mean it has to be that way all the time." Quinn picks up her ice cream and spoon, and resumes eating, a hint of a smile on her lips.

It's that smile that tells Marley that everything's okay, and it always has been.

* * *

She goes back the next day – early, this time, because she's scheduled for the evening shift. Marley buys them all breakfast from her favourite spot because she can.

A half-asleep Ed lets her in (and to be honest, she isn't even sure if he remembers her) and she sets up camp on the dining table. Marley surveys the half-unpacked kitchen as she works; the coffeemaker's out, as are half the pans.

"Breakfast," says Quinn hoarsely. She's still wearing pajamas crumpled from sleep, but she looks relatively awake. "Coffee?"

She hands Quinn a styrofoam cup, uncapping it so the aroma of coffee curls into the kitchen. "Spoonful of sugar, plenty of milk."

"You remembered."

"It's not hard."

"The last few people I dated never could." She takes a sip and sighs happily.

Marley holds her tongue. She's in no position to judge, and anyway, it's too early in the morning for dating discourse. "Since you're the first one up, you get the pick of the breakfast sandwiches."

"I thought Ed let you in?"

"I'm pretty sure he would've let the Queen of England in and not had a clue."

Quinn snorts. "That's true." She casts her eye over the row of sandwiches Marley's taken out of the bag, and picks the one that has the most bacon sticking out the sides. "Thanks."

Marley sighs good-naturedly. She sips her tea and starts on her own sandwich.

Slowly, the other occupants of the apartment file into the kitchen, making sleepy appreciative noises, and making short work of the coffee and sandwiches. "Thanks, Marley," says Halley, "and to what do we owe this generosity?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "I figured you guys would spend the entire day unpacking," she says, "and I have the evening shift, so I thought I would come help."

"You don't have to…" starts Quinn. Marley waves her off.

"Thanks." Ed pats her hand. "In exchange, we shall keep you fed."

"Isn't that the norm? Like, I've read that the social code dictates that you feed whoever helps you move in."

Halley laughs raucously. "You see, Eddy? Not everyone is as gullible as you." Addressing Marley, she says: "He helped me move into my room in Columbia and was honestly stunned when I bought him pizza. Like, who helps lug boxes for free?"

"Shut up, _Halimah_."

"I love you too." She makes kissy sounds at him.

* * *

Once the breakfast things have been cleared away, Marley expects to be put to work on something neutral – the living room, the rest of the kitchen things. Instead, she gets dragged away to Quinn's room. "Come help me," says Quinn, "or I'll never be done by today."

"Okay?" Quinn has less boxes than the others, but Marley doesn't voice her thoughts.

She gets tasked with unpacking books and arranging them in alphabetical order on the shelves. There are so many she isn't sure that all of them will find a place.

Quinn shrugs when it's pointed out to her. "I'll get another shelf."

"You won't have any space left to walk in here."

"Whatever." Quinn sits cross legged on her bed, sifting through what looks like a shoebox of photographs. Most go back into the box, but the occasional photo gets added to the corkboard to her left.

Marley sighs. She continues her work in silence, resisting the urge to flick through some of the more interesting-looking books, until the box is empty and she folds it up. "Done."

"Cool. Thanks." Quinn appears done with her corkboard as well, standing facing the wall. The tip of her tongue peeps out of the corner of her mouth, brow furrowed.

Marley walks over. "Need help?"

"I'm fine, thanks," she says absently. "No wait – could you stand over there –" Quinn gestures to the other end of the room behind her "– and tell me if this is crooked?"

"'Kay." The younger girl complies.

Quinn peels the backing tape off the mounting strips and holds the entire thing up. "Is it straight?"

"Uh… lift the left corner a bit; no, too much; the right corner now… can you move the whole thing up by a fraction of an inch…? Perfect, stop there."

She presses the corkboard in place and steps back, hands on her hips, to admire her work. "Looks great. Thanks, Marley."

"Anytime." Her eyes travel over the photos on the board; many of the faces are familiar to Marley. There's the senior Glee club in various performances. Rachel and Santana. A young girl in various stages of growth with Quinn's hazel eyes. Puck, but only with the girl – _Beth_ , thinks Marley. She recognises the photo of them covered in frosting.

And there's herself. Smiling from a couch she vaguely recognises as belonging to the loft Rachel, Santana, and Kurt shared. A few that she remembers posing for, on trips to Yale, back in Lima, and here in New York.

"Rachel gave me one of these things on my last birthday," says Quinn. "She said they're for conceptualising your dreams and goals, but I think I prefer it like this." Her fingers trace the outline of photo-Beth's chubby cheek, then she turns her head to look at Marley, a smile jumping to her face a little too quickly, too wide. "Are you hungry? Do you wanna get a snack?"

She finds Quinn's hand, tangling their fingers together, and gives it a firm squeeze. "Yeah," she lies.

* * *

Back in her own apartment, Marley calls home. Millie answers on the first ring.

"Hi, sweetie. I thought you'd gone to bed."

"I am in bed," she giggles. "I just wanted to call you. Sorry I'm not home much this summer."

"Stuff n' nonsense, Marley Rose. You're exactly where you're supposed to be, and I'm fit to burst with how proud I am of you. Speakin' of which, doesn't that internship of yours start tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I have to be at the office at nine sharp."

"Send me photos tomorrow, okay? I wanna see and hear all about it."

"Sure thing, Mom."

"I miss you already."

"I miss you so much."

Millie chuckles softly. "We could go back and forth like this all night. You came home, we spent our quality time. You're growin' up, you can't be expected to be spendin' all your time with your ol' mom. Now go to bed, and call me tomorrow with all the news about your first day, alright hon?"

"Okay, Mom. Good night, I love you."

"Love you too, sweetie."

* * *

On the first day, she's shown around a surprisingly homely office. The people seem nice enough, but it's not them she's there for; Marley fell in love the instant she was shown the studio with all its top of the line recording equipment. NYU's facilities aren't lacking, but the professional-grade equipment excites her beyond belief.

She takes photos, of course; of her cubicle (which she knows she'll spend little time at). The exterior of the place, and the door to the studios. She even gets her fellow intern, Sandra, to snap a photo of her with the studio logo.

* * *

The internship is a lot less terrifying that it seemed at the beginning. She knows her stuff, and she's used to hard work; her boss likes her enough to let her do more things than simply running errands for the execs.

At the end of her first month, Marley is packing up her things as she gets ready to leave. She's got a long, glorious weekend ahead of her, and she wants to start it off right with takeout and a good book –

"Hey, Marley. Got a minute?"

Alex, a fellow intern, slouches awkwardly at the side of the desk. He's a senior at Cornell doing Music Theory and Composition, with sandy hair and the greenest eyes Marley has ever seen. She smiles and hopes fervently he doesn't come bearing more work. "Alex. Hey. Sure thing, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you're free tonight or something. We could… get some coffee, or a drink, if you'd like."

It takes her a while to fully process that he's asking her out. "I – wow. Tonight? Now?"

"We don't have to, if you've got plans or stuff already," he backtracks, "I was just hoping that we could spend some time together one of these days. Without all this crazy stuff, y'know." Alex jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the studio; she stifles a giggle.

"Okay, yeah. Uh, I've got plans tonight so it's a little soon, but I'll give you my number, and we can work something out tomorrow or Sunday?" Marley pulls a Sharpie from her shirt pocket, uncapping it, and writes her phone number on the back of his hand in neat digits. "I've gotta go. See you." She flees before he can say anything else.

* * *

When she hears about this emergency, Unique comes online immediately and demands for Marley to accept her call.

"Why do you need to be on Skype?" asks Marley, disgruntled. "There is such a thing as calling and texting, y'know."

"Marley Rose, I love you, but you are being incredibly obtuse right now and when I go up there next I will slap you for it," declares Unique. "This is the first chance you've had at a date since – I don't even know? Since Jake and Ryder? – and I am baffled why you didn't take up the boy on his offer that very instant. Is he cute?"

"Yeah, he is." Alex is long and lanky, with a smile that could power an apartment block, and has always been a perfect gentleman when they were working together.

"Are you straight?"

"Unique!"

"Work with me here. You haven't had a date in ages, and when this cute boy asks you out, you aren't falling over yourself to sink your claws into him. You'd only turn him down if you don't like his boy parts."

"Oh, my god. I can't even talk to you now, you're being ridiculous. How does Andrew stand you?"

Unique sniffs. "Nice try. Andrew knew from the beginning what he was signing up for, and that boy has had nothing to complain about since. This is about you, Marl. What's holding you back?"

She sighs. "I honestly don't know," says Marley, "he really seems nice. I just… I was actually gonna arrange to meet him for a coffee tomorrow afternoon."

"You do that, and you report back to me."

"Fine. Now scat." She ends the call to Unique's uproarious laughter.

* * *

She's meeting Quinn the next morning for breakfast, so it's the perfect opportunity to seek advice. "You have a date?" Quinn looks surprised. "What's his name? How come I haven't heard about this sooner?"

"Alex's a fellow intern at Atlantic." Marley sits on her bed. "He kinda surprised me yesterday afternoon; I gave him my number. We're going out for coffee at this shop near work. What does one wear?"

Quinn laughs, crossing the cramped room to Marley's closet. "Didn't you date Jake Puckerman? How do you not know this?"

"I had no idea what I was doing back then, okay," Marley defends herself. "We'd just go out after school; I didn't dress up or anything. Anyway, you have tons more experience than I do."

"Okay. So, coffee date." Quinn tosses a few articles of clothing onto the bed, most of them vintage finds from thrift stores around the city. Quinn and Unique made a formidable team when it came to finding items; Rachel, not allowed to join in the selecting of clothes, joined forces with Santana in getting the best price for them (in some stores, almost reducing the storekeeper to tears). "You want to be casual, but not too casual."

"Mmhmm."

"Which one of your flannel shirts were you gonna wear?"

Marley gasps in protest. "Were you assuming I was gonna wear one?"

"I know you, Marley Rose."

"Well, you don't know me enough because I wasn't even thinking of it."

"Right. Okay." Quinn tosses something at her; Marley eyes the deep purple tunic top that's landed on her head. "Wear this."

"Fine. So, jeans?"

"If you must." Quinn yanks a plain black pair of skinny jeans from the closet. "This, your purple top, and a scarf. Very hipster."

Marley rolls her eyes. "I didn't even know you knew that word."

"Don't underestimate my hipness to today's slang." Quinn waits for Marley to finish putting on the outfit before nodding her approval. "Okay, looking good."

"Great." She reaches for her favourite newsboy cap, cramming it on her head – ignoring the sigh that escapes Quinn –and slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder. "Thanks for the help, Quinn!"

* * *

Alex is early, but not as early as Marley. She's settled in a good spot facing the door so she can spot him. "Hey," he says, smiling as he pulls out his chair. "I'm really glad we could do this."

"No problem." Her stomach roils with anticipation and anxiety. "Shall we get drinks?"

He nods. At the counter, he doesn't let her pay for her drink, but they pay for their own snacks. "I know this is casual, but I just think it's good manners for the asker to buy the drinks," he explains sheepishly.

Marley laughs. "I'm not complaining."

The conversation is lively, starting with work, the execs, then music in general. Alex turns out to be a huge fan of folk singer-songwriters in the style of Damien Rice, and bashfully shows his writing notebook to Marley.

At six on the dot, Marley's exit call comes in. She stares down at the ringing phone, mutes it, and then continues talking about their respective colleges' workload.

* * *

"You loved it."

"It was fun," defends Marley, "Alex's a really nice guy, and he's interesting to talk to. We have a lot in common."

Unique snorts. "You ignored my exit call. So you loved it. When are you going out with him again?"

"There's this diner on Seventh near Cornell he swears by, we're going Tuesday after work."

"Keep me posted. The next date is an acceptable time to take photos, you'd better send me some or I'll die of anticipation."

"You won't actually die, you drama queen."

* * *

Quinn brings takeout over to Marley's apartment. Gavin and Andie are home, so they retreat to Marley's room to eat. "Believe me, it took everything I had not to sneak a bite on my way here," says Quinn. She tries to sit on the edge of Marley's bed and gets shooed away.

"Sit at my desk. You'll rumple your clothes." Quinn is dressed immaculately, even on a Saturday; a marked contrast to Marley, who ditched her coffee outfit in favour of sweats and a tank top. She sighs but complies, letting Marley sit cross-legged on the bed, a box of chow mein in her hand.

"I'm guessing it went well," says Quinn with a small smile.

"Yeah. He likes a lot of the same stuff, and we spent the whole time talking about books and music. He writes songs too."

"That's great."

Marley notices then, that Quinn picks at her food, and is more taciturn than usual. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. It's been a week from hell at work; you won't believe the amount of projects that've come in, and how many my boss thinks I can proofread in a day."

"You didn't have to come over." Marley lives in the East Village, close to school, but Quinn's apartment is out in Brooklyn. "I could have gone to your place."

"Nah. I had a craving for beef chow mein." She grins at Marley, but it feels… _off_ , somehow.

"But, Quinn – "

"I don't want to talk about it," she says quietly but firmly. "Please."

* * *

It's not awkward at all, the first day back at work. She's attached to a senior producer to learn the ropes, and so she doesn't see much of Alex.

But when she comes back to her desk from the studio, there's an empty paper cup with a teabag inside sitting on it. A yellow sticky note instructs her to get hot water from the office pantry whenever she's back.

Marley stops by Alex's spot on her way back; to her surprise, he's there, muttering to himself as he sifts through Excel.

"Thanks. For the tea, and the note." She holds up the steaming cup.

"Oh, hey, Marley." He beams at her. "I wasn't sure when you were gonna get back, and your tea might've gotten cold. Nothing sucks more than cold tea, really, and – " Alex purses his lips, waving a hand, "– yeah. Gonna stop rambling now."

"No, it's good."

"Good. That's really good." He stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So I was thinking – "

"Are you – "

They pause, and share a laugh. "You first," she says.

"No, you."

"What are we, five?"

Alex grins at her. "Fine. So – are you free this weekend?" There's a David Bowie exhibition I wanna see – that is, if you're a fan of him."

She smiles. "I love David Bowie."

"Great! That's great! So, do you wanna go with me?"

"I'd love to."

* * *

Back home, Marley contemplates her phone. This is the first time in her life that she isn't home in Lima, her mom downstairs singing as she works.

She should give Quinn a call. She's seen a lot of Quinn lately, with coffee outings (tea for her) and meals – albeit eaten out of cardboard boxes in each other's rooms, but – Quinn has been a little weird all this while. Marley doesn't know why, because she won't open up.

An idea strikes her. She pulls up Google on her phone, and types away.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey, Quinn."

The voice on the other end doesn't lose its tension. "Hi, Marl. What's up?"

"Oh, uh – is now a bad time? I could call back later…"

"No, no. I'm just – surprised. You don't normally call me…" Quinn trails off. When she speaks again, her tone is softer, more relaxed. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing, really. Just wanted to say that even though we've known each other for years now, we can still hang out." She laughs, a nervous 'ha-ha' that makes her cringe, glad that Quinn can't see what a mess she is. "Not that… god, I'm bad at this. Not that I'm saying we can't."

Quinn laughs. "Of course we can. Was that all you called me to say?"

"No, of course not! I was wondering if… you were free this weekend? We could do something other than eat or drink or…" Marley trails off, blush intensifying when she hears Quinn's quiet laughter on the other end.

"I'd love to," responds Quinn. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

"A Medusa exhibition?"

Marley flushes scarlet. She does that a lot lately, and she worries she might be coming down with something. "Yeah. I saw an ad for this exhibition the other day when I was out with Alex, and – I thought you might be interested."

Quinn walks ahead and appears not to have heard – but then tosses her a sly smile over a shoulder as she skips up the stairs. "And what makes you think I'd be interested, mm?"

Marley chokes back a laugh. "I went through your entire book collection! I didn't miss the hardcover copy of _The Complete Guide to Greek Mythology_!" She jogs up the steps, caught up in Quinn's enthusiasm.

"You like mythology too!"

"Yeah, but _I'm_ not the one with a copy of _Medusa_ on my shelf!"

"You got me," says Quinn, eyes alight with mirth. She takes out her purse, and is rebuffed by Marley.

"Asker pays," she insists, taking the money out of her purse.

"I make more than you."

"You're only here because I asked you."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I'm buying lunch after."

"Deal." Marley buys two tickets and hands one to Quinn. They let the attendant scan it.

Inside, Marley inhales the weighty atmosphere. She loves the unique feeling that she finds in museums and art galleries, of reverence and admiration of art handed down over centuries. Quinn, as she expected, already has a guide pamphlet in her hand, and offers one to Marley. "No, thanks. I'll depend on you to tell me what's going on," she says.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "As though I'm an authority."

"Technically, you have the pamphlet, so yeah."

Quinn laughs, and then swats her with it. "You're ridiculous."

"And how have you not known this earlier?"

"I think it was the intellectual-looking books and newsboy cap. Hides the dorky bits."

"Since you persist in calling me a dork, Quinn Fabray, don't forget I went through your book collection – here _and_ in Lima. I _know_ things."

As they banter, they wander through the prescribed course as the guide states, and Quinn insists; Marley finds it amusing how Quinn's just as anal about the museum as she is with her books. Although she would have been content to spend her Sunday afternoon just watching Quinn, Marley quickly gets caught up with some of the pieces of art on display. "I like this one," she says, pointing at a painting.

"The Caravaggio?"

"Whatever," she says, just to make Quinn scowl. "Yes, the Caravaggio," relents Marley, hugging Quinn's arm to her, "sorry for offending your artistic sensibilities."

Quinn just looks away and mumbles, "Alright," which is a little subdued for her, but Marley attributes it to the hush of the museum.

* * *

She lingers by the gift shop on the way out. "It's all gimmicky stuff," says Quinn.

"Says the woman who bought a foam Statue of Liberty hat and 'I Heart NY' shirt," Marley snipes back with a grin.

"It was an ironic statement and a gag gift in one."

She laughs. She's really enjoying this outing; it's been a while since she's seen Quinn this happy – and if it means going out of her comfort zone and teasing her, Marley would gladly do it. "Whatever you say. So, lunch?"

"Of course. What do you feel like eating?"

"Buyer picks."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "It doesn't work that way."

"Fine. What's close by?"

"Chinese?"

"Okay."

"Okay? That was quick," says Quinn.

"I'm not a picky eater. Besides, your treat." She honestly couldn't care less where they end up, as long as it's with Quinn; the incident with Quinn's roommates has taught her that Quinn will always take care of that aspect of her.

Quinn beams. "Chinese, then."

* * *

She has a miserable day. It's half comedy of errors, half definite proof the universe is out to get her. Marley doesn't want to go into details, because it only depresses her.

When she unlocks her front door and flops on the couch, shedding her jacket, hat, and bag along the way, Marley wants nothing more than to sink into the cushions and forget that the day ever happened. Except, of course – she has to forget that she still needs to eat dinner, and she hasn't the energy or enthusiasm for that.

Marley weighs it against the guilt of not eating, and comes up pretty damn conflicted.

"Hey, yourself."

Marley's hallucinating now. It must be the hunger, because no one has hallucinations this vivid for lesser reasons. "Go away, hallucination-Quinn, and let me die in peace."

A warm pressure rests on her shoulder, squeezing briefly. "That's the first time I've been called a hallucination," says Quinn, sounding amused, "and I'm counting the time Rachel mistook Santana's pot brownies for her vegan batch and ate six before we could stop her."

"... Quinn?"

"The actual one." Quinn nudges her until she sits up properly – the whole time, she doesn't stop staring.

"What're you doing here?"

"Andie called me. She said you were having a bad day." She guides Marley up and over to the dining table, sitting her down. A tall glass of milk follows. "Drink," commands Quinn.

She does, slowly. Quinn nods, satisfied, and then takes something out of the oven and sets it in front of her.

Marley gapes at the dish of mac and cheese. "What…?"

"I made it myself," says Quinn. "Eat."

She does, ravenously, almost moaning at how the rich cheesy flavour fills her mouth and warms her insides. There are chunks of other things mixed inside – broccoli? Chicken? – which she savours. All the while she is conscious of Quinn watching her.

Only when Marley scrapes up the last bit of pasta from the dish and sets the spoon down, does Quinn move. She puts the dish to soak before sitting back down.

Marley notices it's eerily quiet for a Wednesday evening in her apartment. "Where's everyone?"

Quinn smiles in a manner that chills Marley. "I suggested that they should give you some quiet time. Gavin and Andie went out; Stan's in his room."

"Suggested?"

"Strongly."

Marley smiles.

The kettle whistles; Quinn excuses herself, returning shortly after with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The rich scent wafts through the air. Marley accepts her mug gratefully.

"Thanks."

Quinn props her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her open palm. "No problem. How are you feeling?"

"Much better." She returns Quinn's smile, albeit shyer. "It was amazing; the food, the hot chocolate, everything. I didn't know you could cook like that."

" _I_ can't. I got the recipe from your mom a while back, when we were in Lima."

Marley's jaw drops open. "No wonder it tasted familiar. But it had all the extra stuff inside, my mom doesn't do that."

Here Quinn looks a little abashed. "I wanted you to eat something nutritionally balanced, so I desecrated your mom's recipe."

She flushes. "Thank you. I… that means a lot to me. I really appreciate you doing that."

"It's not a big deal."

Marley laughs. She feels so much better now, like she can fly. She's about to ask if Quinn wants to watch bad movies with her all night, but her phone rings, startling them both.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Marley," comes Alex's voice. "Sandra said you got chewed out by Iversen today. How are you feeling?"

Marley glances over at Quinn; the other girl is preoccupied with her hot chocolate, and doesn't appear to be paying attention to her. "Much better," she says.

"Great. Listen, I was wondering; if you don't have any plans tonight, I could come over to your place to hang out? I'll bring popcorn and movies; I've got that movie you said you wanted to watch. _Princess Diaries_ , yeah?"

 _Is that Alex?_ Quinn mouths. Marley nods.

Quinn's expression smooths over. "I should go," she says, taking her mug to the sink, "I won't get in the way of you two..."

"No!"

"Huh?" asks Alex.

"I mean…" Marley clears her throat. "I don't think thats a good idea, Alex. I'm really not up for company; I was actually just gonna take a shower and go to bed early."

"Oh, sure, of course. I'll talk to you later, then? Good night, Marley. Take care."

"Bye." She ends the call, sets her phone down before she can consider that she's turned down her _boyfriend_ to spend time with her _best friend_. "Hey, Quinn, hang on a sec."

She has her tote on her shoulder. "He can come over; I'm on my way out," she says, smiling.

"He's, uh, not coming."

"You told him not to come?"

"Yeah. Like – you're already here; you came all this way to feed me comfort food. That you cooked." Marley feels like she's ruining it somehow. "It's freezing out there, and it's a long way to Brooklyn."

Quinn chuckles. "I've lived here for two years; I think I know how to brave a New York winter."

Marley hesitates. There's no way she can get Quinn to stay without sounding too needy, but… "I'll make you my mom's special peppermint tea?"

Quinn shakes her head. "You make a compelling case," she says, following Marley back into the kitchen, dropping her tote beside her chair.

"And board games later?"

"You have board games?"

Marley grins. "Technically, Stan does." She gets up. "I'll be back in a few minutes, let me see what he's got." She pads over to his room, knocking on the door briskly.

He has his oversized headphones on as he blasts away at some game on his computer, but pushes his swivel chair over to her when she enters. "Hey, Marl. Feeling better?"

"Loads, thanks."

"Great. What can I do for you, babe?"

"Can I borrow some of your board games?"

"Certainly. Help yourself, they're on the shelf over there." Stan doesn't go back to his game, however; he hovers next to the shelf.

"Hey, Marl?"

"Hmm?"

"Your friend Quinn. Do you know if she's, uh, is she seeing anybody?"

She blinks owlishly at him. "Uh, not that I know of. Why?"

Stan sighs. "God, you're so adorably obtuse sometimes. I was wondering… do you think she'd be interested in going out with me some time?"

Marley frowns. It's not a secret that out of her housemates, she's closest to Stan, but he's being incredibly annoying right now and she doesn't understand why. "Oh my god, Stanley. Just ask her yourself – she's outside now, and we aren't in high school anymore."

"First of all, that's not my name. Secondly, do you think it would be weird? Like, she's your best friend and I'm your roommate."

"Of course it's weird. Like you're being right now." She grabs the closest box. "Thanks." Marley stalks out.

"Marley? Everything alright?"

She's outside, clutching the game in a death grip. Quinn looks concerned. Marley shakes her head, wills away the agitation with a few deep breaths. "I'm fine. There wasn't much choice."

"I can see that,"says Quinn with an arched eyebrow. " _Trivial Pursuit_? Clearly, you're a masochist for picking such a brain-intensive game."

Marley gapes at her – until she notices the corners of Quinn's mouth twitching, and she scowls. "You're mean."

"I do my best. Come on, let's get the things set up."

* * *

Gavin calls a house conference over breakfast, much to everyone's dismay.

"Please tell me this is an actual household emergency, and not a party announcement," grumbles Stan.

Gavin looks affronted. "Halloween is coming, and it would be scandalous to let it pass without commemoration. Parties are always household emergencies, _Stanislaus_."

"That's not my name!"

Andie groans. "Gavin, everytime we go against our better judgement and let you throw a party, something bad happens."

"Does not. My birthday?"

"Someone puked all over our bathroom."

"Couldn't be avoided," snipes Stan, " _someone_ spiked the punch. Thrice."

"Andie's thesis presentation party?"

"I found a diaphragm in my room," says Marley. Andie gags. "Luckily it was on the floor, otherwise I would've needed to burn my mattress."

Gavin frowns. "End of finals?"

"Gavin, _no_ ," says everyone else simultaneously.

His pout deepens. "No one would ever guess you sad socks are college students. C'mon, we're only young once."

"It's not so much our being _sad socks_ ," replies Marley, "as it is your parties always getting out of hand."

"Can't help it if I'm the most happening thing this side of the East Village." He puts up both hands in a peace gesture. "Okay, okay, that was terrible. Fine. How about if I swear, cross my heart, promise on my mother's grave, to take care of the cleanup myself?"

"Swear on something you actually care about. Like… your NYU All-Faculty Beer Pong champion's trophy," Marley suggests.

"Your underwear collection."

Andie makes a disgusted face. "Oh my god, you actually still have that? I thought you'd gotten rid of it, you goddamned perv."

"They keep piling up, alright? I can't help it if people just _give_ them to me!" He waves a dismissive hand. "We digress. Y'all are savages. Fine, I accept your terms." As he wanders off muttering to himself about party arrangements, Stan walks over to Marley.

"I'm gonna do it."

"Huh?"

"The next time I see Quinn," explains Stan. "I'm gonna man up and ask her out."

"Oh." She feels strangely agitated. "You don't have to ask my permission, I'm not her keeper."

He blinks. "Wow, Marley. If you feel so strongly about me dating Quinn, you could just say so."

"I don't care whether you're dating Quinn or not," she informs him coolly, "'cause it's none of my business. Anyway, she hasn't even said yes yet." And Marley stalks off to her room, shutting the door behind her.

She flops on her bed, clutching a pillow to her face. Marley's torn; part of her wants to tell Stan to stay away from Quinn. The other part doesn't understand why she's being so irrational about the whole thing.

* * *

What seems like half of Steinhardt shows up to Gavin's Halloween party. Being Gavin, he has a strict costume policy, and dresses as the Lone Ranger. Stan (reluctantly) joins him as Tonto because he hasn't got any better ideas. Andie cuts arm and leg holes in a burlap sack and calls herself a bag of sugar.

Marley didn't know what to get. She didn't want to do a couple costume like Alex suggested, but she couldn't think of what to get. At her wits' end, she went to Gavin.

"Sweetheart, may I say I am so glad you came to me," he says. "I'll get you a costume, don't worry! Let me take a few measurements, and we'll be done."

She trusted him with her costume, and that's why she's now standing in the kitchen mixing punch while dressed as Supergirl.

"You look amazing, sweetheart!" says Gavin. "Doesn't she?" he prompts their roommates.

"For once, he's right," chimes in Andie. Stan nods along.

Marley isn't entirely comfortable; the skirt's too short for her liking, and too much of it is skintight. But at least it's not a gorilla costume.

Her own friends have yet to come; for now, she talks with her roommates' friends (and a surprising number of people from her classes).

"Marley!"

Rachel, dressed in a Cheerios uniform, runs up to greet her. Santana trails behind in a McKinley Titans football uniform. "Wow," says Marley, "this is a blast from the past."

Santana shrugs. "We were too lazy to get real costumes."

"As if. Rachel's been dropping hints for weeks about wanting to redo high school and she insisted on a couple costume. If you didn't already know, S is so whipped it's not funny."

Marley turns towards the familiar voice. Quinn's dressed in armour, a sword strapped to her side, her hair loose around her face. "Wow. Hi, Quinn."

Quinn smiles at her. "Nice costume, Rose," she says, eyes traveling up and down Marley's figure. "Though I'm a little surprised. Spandex?"

She flushes red. "Gavin."

"Of course."

"Let me guess. Eowyn?" asks Marley. Quinn beams ar her and nods.

Santana snorts. "Oh my god, Q, she's just as nerdy as you."

"Says the woman who persisted in calling me a hobbit throughout high school," says Rachel.

"It was for English!"

"Right, right." Rachel wraps her arm around Santana's.

"Hey, Marley." Alex comes up from behind. He's dressed as David Bowie, complete with makeup and a guitar slung around his neck. "I love your costume."

"Thanks." His hand brushes hers, and Marley threads her fingers through his. "Yours is pretty good too. Is that a wig, or did you dye your hair just for tonight?"

"Dye. The wig looked weird. I don't get much opportunity to dress up, so Halloween's when I go all out."

"Could've fooled me," Santana stage-whispers. Rachel glares. "We're gonna get drinks," she says, glancing at Quinn, "you coming?"

"Uh, yeah."

Before Marley can say anything, Rachel's dragged Santana away, Quinn trailing behind them. She frowns; she could've sworn there was something odd about the way her friends are behaving, but then remembers that Quinn's never been much of a party person.

She's just about to go after her friend when Sandra appears, grabbing her arm and talking excitedly about her costume.

* * *

By the time she's been dragged around the party, meeting most of the attendees and socializing, Marley's ready to peel off her costume and hibernate for a solid week.

Then she sees, on the periphery, Quinn and Stan. They seem to be getting along famously; Stan's got his charm turned all the way up, and Quinn…

She has this soft smile on, that Marley knows well. Somehow, seeing it directed at someone else burns Marley up. She turns away and presses herself into Alex.

* * *

Originally, she'd planned on being in Lima for Thanksgiving, just like every year. But this time, she has a choice to make. Marley's new project is some up-and-coming singer's debut album, but the timeline means she won't be able to go home.

It'll be the first time in her life that she'll be missing a holiday with her mom.

Marley takes consolation that at the very least, Millie won't be alone; she'd been invited on an art trip with her watercolour club. She had been about to decline when Marley broke the news that she's stuck in New York.

Adding to the string of spectacularly bad luck is the fact that none of her friends are spending the holidays in the city. Her roommates are all at their parents' homes or abroad; Quinn will be out of town, joining Santana's family in Lima while her mother's in Minnesota; Rachel's fathers are coming to watch her latest show in New York before they all head back to Lima together… even Alex invites her for Thanksgiving dinner back home in Topeka, Kansas with him when they meet for dinner.

"Sorry," she mutters, "I'm stuck here for the holiday."

"That's too bad." He kisses her hair. "For what it's worth, I think it's great that you got that album project, though."

"Because it looks great on my resume, or because the alternative is a Vanilla Ice comeback EP – which is what you got attached to?"

He groans. "Both?"

She laughs into the shoulder of his overcoat. "It's rather apt for the season, you have to admit." Marley starts humming _Ice Ice Baby_.

"Stop," he orders, tugging at her sleeve, "before I get that horrible song stuck in my head – too late."

"Not even sorry." They scoot across the road and around the corner, finding themselves outside Marley's building.

"This is your stop," says Alex, turning so he's facing Marley. "I'll see you when I get back. Take care of yourself." His arms slide around her waist, and Marley snuggles into his embrace. "God, I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too. Give me a call when you're home."

"Will do."

* * *

"Looks like I've got the whole house to myself," she says aloud, standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips. "Oh – sorry, Valentino; I forgot about you," she addresses the fish tank in the corner. While Gavin had finally gotten rid of his underwear collection, his one-night-stands persisted in leaving him weird gifts; Valentino the arowana was, by far, the icing on the multi-tiered weirdness cake.

She's vaguely aware that talking to herself is a sign of senility – and talking to a _fish_ isn't much better – but there's no one to judge her for it. "I haven't baked in a while; since there's no one hogging the kitchen with their dirty dishes, I think I can indulge," she tells Valentino. Marley sets her music blaring, humming along with Janet Jackson as she gathers ingredients.

The butter cookies are done soon, and she sets them on a cooling rack. Half the fun is decorating them; Marley makes herself tea and sits down to wait. "Happy Thanksgiving, Valentino," she says, clinking her mug with the tank.

The doorbell rings. Marley sighs. It's unlikely the UPS man would be delivering, and she's not really in the mood to deal with grumpy Mrs. Schwartz from downstairs.

She glances through the peephole and does a double-take, fumbling to unlock the door. "Quinn?"

"Hey. Happy Thanksgiving."

"What are you – you know what? Forget I asked, you've had this habit of showing up unannounced on my doorstep for years now." She holds out her arms for a hug, which Quinn readily gives. "How'd you know I'm not in Lima?"

"Facebook."

Marley blinks. "Oh. Right."

"Plus your mom told me." She follows Marley into the house properly. "Who's Valentino, by the way?"

Marley points at the tank. "Mom told you? What?"

"The fish is named _Valentino?"_ Quinn suppresses a giggle poorly. "You're joking."

"I wish. Stan named him after Rudolph Valentino. He said it was only fair that he's not the only one in this house saddled with a horrible name."

"Isn't Stan short for Stanley?"

"Nope. He won't tell us what it's actually short for." She sits on the couch and pats the seat beside her. The mention of Stan sours her mood; she's still not over what happened at the Halloween party. "You haven't answered my question yet. Why'd my mom call you?"

"She was worried about you being lonely." Quinn takes the offered spot. "I think she has good reason to think so, if you only have Valentino for company."

Marley tries to look offended, and fails. "Can we stop talking about the fish already?"

Quinn smiles. "Sure. So what were you up to, before I showed up unannounced and ruined your plans?"

"Decorating cookies, binging on said cookies as I catch up with all my shows, calling my mom, and then bed."

"Cookies?"

She nods in the direction of the kitchen. "They should be cool enough soon, I was gonna get the stuff for decorating. Wanna help? Since you missed out the last time."

That last sentence was thrown out casually, but she turns her head just in time to catch Quinn's wince. "Sorry. I was being my usual closed-off self."

"It's all good." She gets out some white icing into small bowls, mixing food colouring into each one to create an autumn palette.

Quinn holds up a bag of mixed red and orange sprinkles, and laughs. "You take your Thanksgiving cookies seriously."

"Like a heart attack. Do you mind giving me a hand? Help get the icing into the ziploc bags…" She demonstrates how it's done. "Then we wanna get it all into one corner, then poke a hole with a skewer."

By the time she gets the cookies laid out, Quinn is eagerly awaiting her, makeshift piping bag in hand. "Is it weird that I'm really excited about this?" she asks, reaching for a turkey-shaped cookie.

Marley laughs. "Nah. This is one of the traditions I look forward to every year." She carefully outlines a cat with black icing. "We didn't have much money when I was little, so Mom and I would bake and decorate these as our holiday treat."

"I'm glad you're sharing this with me."

Marley shakes her head. "I'm glad I'm not eating them alone. Valentino's not a fan of cookies." She finishes off her cat with whiskers.

"Were you planning on finishing the whole batch by yourself?"

"The first one back gets a share; I think it'll be Gavin since his parents live in Astoria. He'll be pleased, since the last time I baked, Stan ate everything before he could."

"Wow."

"He's a black hole." She attempts to steer the conversation away without seeming too obvious. "Weren't you supposed to be in Lima with Santana's family?"

Quinn shrugs. "Santana decided to stay and travel back with Rachel and her fathers; didn't feel much like being the odd one out."

"Ah. Well, I'm not doing much here anyways."

"Do you know when Stan will be back?"

Jealousy curls in the pit of Marley's stomach; her pumpkin cookie acquires a large orange splot when her fingers tighten on the bag. "No. Why?"

"I wanted to apologise to him; I think he's avoiding me," says Quinn ruefully.

"Huh?"

"He asked me out at the Halloween party. I turned him down."

"He – what?" She's not sure which surprises her more; the fact that Quinn turned him down, or that she's reacting this strongly. "Why?"

Quinn gives her a lopsided smile. "He's sweet, but I don't see him that way. Besides, I'm not interested in dating anyone at the moment."

"Why not? I mean – isn't there anyone remotely attractive in the vicinity?"

"Of course there is," replies Quinn. "They're not available, though; so there's that." She hands the now-meticulously-decorated turkey cookie to Marley. "Since you let me in, you get my first cookie."

She bites into it without thinking. The buttery cookie and sweet icing go untasted, though, as her mind takes in this new information. Anyone would be lucky to have Quinn; Marley wants to pry so badly, but Quinn's wearing that closed-off expression of hers, and she doesn't want to drive her best friend away.

"Good?" asks Quinn.

Marley chews. "Amazing," she lies.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Chapter title comes from _Knee Socks_ by Arctic Monkeys. Extended author's notes and further meta about this story can be found on my Tumblr; I'm **yumi-michiyo** there.

On an unrelated note, with this chapter I've passed the 1 million words uploaded milestone :)


	6. Part Five

**Part Five:** _Oh, and patience is hard when you just don't know (Where all the waiting is taking you)_

* * *

The first week of January passes uneventfully. Her mom spends Christmas and New Year's in New York for a change, and the rest of her time was spent working. Quinn seems just as busy; she's either in the office or sifting through work at home when Marley calls. The younger girl makes it her job to ensure Quinn gets enough leisure time, paging through events and new eateries and exhibitions they can visit.

"Marl?"

She glances up from her phone. Alex has a beer in his hand, setting her cranberry vodka on the table.

"Thanks, Alex."

He smiles, kissing her cheek. "Anytime."

Her phone buzzes in her hand. Quinn picks the contemporary art gallery visit over the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibition, which just makes Marley scowl. She types her scathing reply out and sends it.

Applauses fills the air. The guitarist takes his bows and steps off the stage. "He's not bad," says Alex, "I wonder if he's selling any of his stuff."

"Yeah," agrees Marley, who has heard approximately none of the man's set.

"Which bit did you like? I didn't care for the opening song, but his cover of _Hallelujah_ wasn't bad – which is saying something since that song's been done to death. Though if you'd asked me, he should've done something that showed off his guitar skills a bit more."

"Uhh…" She's saved when her phone buzzes again. "Sorry," says Marley apologetically.

"It's alright. It's Quinn, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm." She's already engrossed with rebutting Quinn's points about Wright's less-than-impressive designs.

* * *

The moment arrives when her internship formally ends. Her supervisor finishes his speech and promises to deliver his reports to their professors, they all pose for photos outside.

Alex finds her as she's packing up her things. "Hey," he says.

"Hi." Marley finds it amusing that they've been going out for a few months now, and he's still as awkward as the first time he asked her out. "What's up?" she asks, resting her arms on top of her box.

"Nothing, really." He smiles. "Just can't believe it's over, and we're back in school. With classes. Professors."

"Yeah."

"So, listen," he starts, "I know we won't be seeing each other that often now, but… we're gonna continue dating, aren't we?"

"Of course?" She says without thinking, honestly baffled by the question.

Alex beams one of his megawatt smiles. "Oh, thank god. I really… I honestly didn't think you'd still want to go out with me after this. Like, you're way out of my league."

"What, really? I thought _you_ were way out of _my_ league."

"No way. I was the gangly small town kid back home in Topeka. Whatever you see now was puberty hitting me in the face like a freight train."

Marley laughs.

"Now that's out of the way, are you free Friday night? I've got two tickets to an open-mic night my classmate gave me."

"I'd love to."

"Cool." He leans forward to peck her on the cheek. "Look, I've gotta run. I'll pick you up at your place at seven?"

"Sure. Bye."

She watches him go. There's a weird sensation that she can't quite put her finger on.

She really likes Alex. He's handsome and sweet and funny. They get along well. Most importantly, he respects her limits, and genuinely cares about her as a person.

All that, and there's still something… _lacking._ She shakes off the feeling and goes back to her work.

* * *

She's just minding her own business, sitting on the edge of Quinn's bed and chatting about classes, when the door opens.

Rachel barely has enough time to say, "Can I borrow you for a minute, Marley?" before Santana grabs her arm and leads her away – or more accurately, drags.

"What?"

"I need your help," says Santana bluntly.

"Okay…?"

Rachel smacks Santana's thigh. She scowls. "Santana's going to record an album," says Rachel, looking pointedly at her girlfriend, "and we'd love it if you'd produce it."

Marley's jaw drops open. "You – that's amazing! But, me? You want me to... I'm not even out of school yet."

Quinn, who's followed them indignantly the moment Marley was kidnapped, gasps. "You're finally doing it? You got the funding?"

"We sure did, Q-ball," Santana snorts. To Marley, she adds: "You got in at fucking Atlantic Records. I'd say you know your stuff."

"I'll be contributing guest vocals, of course," Rachel interjects excitedly, "and providing songwriting expertise. It'll be great! Please say yes!"

Marley looks at Quinn, who smiles back. "What? It's a great opportunity."

"Damn straight," says Santana.

Quinn's right; it _is_ a perfect opportunity. She's cut her teeth on actual album work in her internship, her professors are on her to find relevant projects for work experience, she gets to help her friends chase their dreams…

"I'm in," says Marley. Rachel squeals and hugs her.

* * *

When classes start, they fall into a routine where Alex walks her to class first, and then he heads to Cornell's campus for his afternoon classes.

Normally they part with a hug, but today he kisses Marley and says: "See you later, Marley. Love you."

It's so casual, so unexpected, that she doesn't fully process it until he's gone, the scent of his cologne lingering. Some titters sound from the spectators who clearly think she's standing there in a daze because she's madly in love.

But she's not.

* * *

"Okay. Cut. Cut. Stop."

Santana pushes back her headphones, putting her hands on her hips, fixing Marley with a look.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

"I should be asking you that. What's up with you, Rose?"

Alex comes to mind immediately. "Nothing," is what Marley says instead.

Santana tuts. "Saying nothing's wrong isn't gonna magically make everything okay, y'know. Trust me, I spent a long time in that stage of denial."

She brushes her fringe away from her eyes. "I just… it's complicated."

Santana sets her headphones down and exits the recording booth, pulling a swivel chair over to Marley with the spike of her shoe. "I know complicated, I'm dating it. Try me."

Marley chuckles weakly. "I'm not sure Rachel would appreciate that comment."

"She'll deal with it. It's what she does." Santana adjusts her seat. "And don't think I don't know what you're trying to do; told ya, I _know_ complicated."

She sighs. "I… I'm conflicted."

"Mmhmm. And?"

"And… I don't know what to do. I don't even know what's wrong."

"Boy troubles?"

Marley gives a surprised laugh. "I – no. Alex is great. Alex and I – we're great."

"Okay," replies Santana. "Then what's the problem? School?"

"Nah."

"Problems with Quinnifer?"

Marley starts. "Definitely not! Why would you say that?"

"Hey, if you're not gonna tell it to me straight, I'm gonna poke around making wild guesses until I get tired of the damn game," shrugs Santana. "I'm not Rachel Berry."

She sighs. A restless, agitated energy buzzes beneath her skin. "Can we just… go back to work?"

Santana stands up. "Sure. But you gots to bring your A game, 'cause whatever you're doing out there isn't it," she calls over her shoulder.

Marley presses her lips together, flipping the switch to replay the minus one track.

* * *

She should've guessed something was up when Rachel asked to meet to discuss "the creative direction of Santana's album". She lasted all of ten minutes before shoving her planner to one side.

"Santana mentioned you're having… _difficulties_ ," says Rachel as casually as she can – meaning, not at all – as she leans forward on her elbows.

"I'm not. It's just complicated."

She makes a knowing sound. "If you prefer, I could help you with that? I've been told I can be complicated."

"By Santana?"

Rachel grins. "Among others. I know I'm a bit of a handful, but Santana told me that it wouldn't be a problem because she's got two hands."

"That's… incredibly sweet for her."

"Mmhmm. I find her soft side incredibly appealing, and I can't understand why she wants to hide it. As a matter of fact, if she ever finds out I told you that, she'll kill me." She looks strangely excited by the prospect, and Marley feels the urge to change the subject.

"I'm not having difficulties. I'm just at this point in my life which I don't know what I'm doing."

"That sounds normal. While I've known what I wanted to do with my life from the age of five, most people struggle with that exact same thing." Rachel's expression changes. "However, if your problem involves heterosexual intercourse, I'm afraid I'll have to get back to you on that; it's been a while since I've slept with a guy – "

"No! Oh my god, no," blurts out Marley, red-faced. "It's definitely – I just wanted to know how you know whether you're in love with someone or not. Not sex or – anything like that." She groans, mortified.

Rachel actually looks more eager, if Marley ever thought it could be possible. "Oh. Well, it's different for everyone, I believe. For me, it was when I woke up one morning, looked at Santana, and I could imagine waking up to her every morning for the rest of my life."

"Oh."

"That was for me," she repeats, blushing furiously. "I'm fairly certain it's different for everyone." Rachel's eyes brighten again. "Are you and Alex…?"

"No. I don't think so. I don't know." She mimics Rachel's pose (elbow on the table, chin on her hand) and sighs. "I… he told me he loves me. We've been dating for eight months next Friday; shouldn't there be something by now?"

Rachel frowns. "Wait. You're saying… you don't feel anything for him? A spark? Fireworks? No?"

"I don't know," says Marley helplessly. "I have no idea how these things are supposed to feel like."

"Oh dear," says Rachel, sighing as well. "Okay. Where do you see yourself in five years?"

"Uh… I don't know. Working here in New York in… a recording studio? With a well-known label?"

Rachel smiles encouragingly at her. "Good, good," she says, "let's say you win an award. Best Producer, at maybe… Billboards. Who do you thank in your acceptance speech?"

"My mom," says Marley automatically. "You guys, for getting me started. Quinn. Unique. Whoever I'm dating."

Rachel's smile slips a little. "Whoever you're dating? Not Alex?"

"I…" It just confirms whatever she's feared. She doesn't care to ask what leaps of logic Rachel's used to arrive at her conclusion. "I don't know."

Rachel reaches for her hand and squeezes her fingers. "Could you tell me exactly what happened between you and Alex? Please?"

"He told me he loves me."

"Oh."

"And I couldn't – I can't say it back. Not the way he means, and he wants. We were – I _thought_ we were good, because he's sweet, and kind, and… wonderful."

"Marley. Sweetie, look at me." She sees the concern in Rachel's eyes, and then realises they're getting looks from the people in their immediate vicinity. "It's alright. You're okay. There's nothing wrong with you."

"I thought it was supposed to be like this," she says brokenly.

Rachel attempts to pull her into a hug, remembers she's sitting across the table, then scoots to Marley's side to hug her. "Everything will work out," she says, "you'll see."

"Really?"

"Really," says Rachel firmly, "take it from me; I was formerly engaged to the high school quarterback and now I'm in a happy relationship with one of the cheerleaders."

* * *

She needs time and space. Rachel's words continue to linger at the back of her mind. The other woman's been sworn to secrecy – even from Santana, which Marley greatly appreciates – but Marley knows that it's only a matter of time.

Her fingers find her phone, and she texts Quinn to check if she's free.

* * *

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," lies Marley as she follows Quinn up the steps. "I just felt like a quiet afternoon."

Quinn hums. "Well, I'm glad you're sharing it with me." She pulls out her purse and buys two tickets before Marley can stop her. Amidst Marley's protests, she says: "Pay me back when S's album takes off."

"That's not a sound investment."

"You're a music major. What do you know about finance?"

"Not much." She leads the way into the galleries.

There's no set route, no plan. She's been to the Guggenheim before, but never to their permanent exhibition; Marley wanders from display to display with her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

While the effect the hushed gallery has on her is substantial, it's not exactly the same as the last time. She passes each painting with a cursory glance, thoughts running a mile a minute. Her restlessness still buzzes vaguely, the anxiety over her procrastination making its presence felt.

At the end of the hall, a gentle pressure on her elbow stills her. "Let's go," says Quinn, glancing at the exit.

"Huh? We just got here."

"Yeah? And it's time to go. C'mon."

Completely baffled, Marley lets Quinn take them out of the gallery. "You just wasted fifty bucks – oh my god, you paid for my ticket, too."

Quinn shrugs. "So? It's just money, and we have better things to do." She leads the way down the street.

"But…"

"Rose, just be quiet, and follow me. Do you trust me?"

"Always," she says immediately.

Quinn's expression softens, and she turns her attention back on the way ahead of them, towards…

"A bookstore?"

"A bookstore," confirms Quinn. She opens the door. "Pick out something."

On the first day of fifth grade, she'd been seated next to a boy called Ricky Grossman who spoke with a heavy lisp. It had taken her a week to understand what he was saying as she stared, bewildered, at him.

Marley feels like that now as she stands in the bookstore, in front of a rack holding new arrivals.

"Huh?"

"Pick something," repeats Quinn. She's moved to the non-fiction section, a thick tome already in her hands. "When was the last time you read a book?"

"A while," she mumbles, abashed. Friday reading nights had become date nights, weekends for gigs and performances, her tiny amount of free time given to Alex.

"Exactly. Get something not related to school," commands Quinn.

She takes a step forward. Her fingers brush the spine of the closest book. She stands, paralyzed by indecision, and all the books that she's been putting off until tomorrow.

And then a hand on the back of her shoulder turns her around. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

Quinn smiles. She is led back outside, to a new destination which is less mystifying.

Central Park is fairly crowded on a Saturday afternoon, but they quickly find a shaded spot on the grass where they can sit. Quinn takes a book out of her bag, placing it in her lap; she doesn't open it, though.

She feels grass prickle under her skin. The ground is warm from the sun. A breeze ruffles her hair.

Marley breathes. A piece of the puzzle falls into place, familiar and comfortable like it's never been absent. She closes her eyes, and lets herself _be_.

It doesn't seem like any time has passed the next she knows. But when she opens her eyes again, the shadows have changed.

"Marley, is something wrong?"

It's a familiar refrain over the past two weeks. She finally feels settled in her own skin, enough that she ponders the question. But Marley still stalls for time as she turns to face Quinn.

"I… I'm not happy."

"Why not?"

She knows why not, but she's not yet brave enough to say it. Marley lowers her head, fingers picking at the grass.

"Hey," says Quinn softly. She scoots closer. "Talk to me."

For all that they've talked, she's never talked about her feelings with Quinn. The words stick in her throat, and Marley chooses a slightly less dangerous path of conversation. "I… how do you know you're in love with someone?"

Quinn frowns. "I don't think I'm the best person to ask," she says with a rueful smile, "seeing that I'm currently single."

"Did you like the guys you dated?"

"Of course! Otherwise why would I have dated them?"

Marley arches an eyebrow – a gesture she's learned from Quinn herself. Quinn laughingly lifts a hand in defeat.

"I liked the guys in high school well enough – otherwise I was gonna torture myself having to spend time with them. Plus, you can't really fake chemistry." Quinn tilts her head to one side, losing herself in memories.

"How about love?" And she treads on dangerous territory, but Marley _really_ wants to know.

"I loved Blake," admits Quinn softly. "I wanted to spend every moment of the day with him. I thought about him when we were apart, I cared about what he thought, what he liked to do. But in love with him? I don't know. You should ask Rachel; Santana would probably laugh and then give you some dumb answer."

Marley looks away. "Oh."

"Are you in love with Alex?"

"... No." But she hesitates too long.

Quinn has this look on her face like she knows Marley isn't being fully candid with her – but it's gone, replaced by patient understanding. "I'll be here, whenever you're ready to talk," says Quinn firmly.

A weight settles, soft, in Marley's lap. A copy of _Perks of Being a Wallflower_ sits there. She stares at it for a long moment, before staring at Quinn, who only smiles back.

Marley opens the book to a random page. Fittingly, the first line of text she sees is:

" _And in that moment, I swear, we were infinite."_

* * *

He opens the door with a broad grin. "Hey! I wasn't expecting to see you so soon." He bends to kiss her; she turns her head so his lips brush her cheek.

"Alex… we need to talk."

His brow furrows. "Okay?" He sits down on his couch. "What's up?"

"We've been dating for eight months…"

"Nine, actually."

She flushes. If she had needed further proof of their failure, it was here. "... yeah. I think we… it's not working."

He stares at her, silent and shocked. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I like you – but that's it. I don't feel anything more." She forces herself to meet his eyes. "I never wanted this to happen, but I – "

"Save it," he interrupts sharply. Alex stands, his jaw clenched. "So that's it? That's how you're breaking up with me?"

"Alex…"

"No, you know what? Fuck it. I don't want to hear any more. It's not my fault, it's yours, right?" He's angry, but quietly so; Marley feels like her insides are being squeezed by an icy cold fist. "I've heard that old story before."

"I'm sorry." It's all she can think to say.

"Fuck. Should've seen it coming. You've been distant lately, and I thought I'd give you space…" He shakes his head. "And you came all this way to tell me. Convenient. I guess I should be thankful, right?" Alex strides over to the door and wrenches it open. She takes it as her cue to leave, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Wait."

She pauses just outside, turning her head. He's fighting tears of his own, but one manages to trickle down a cheek. "Did you ever try? At all?"

"So hard," she whispers. "I'm so sorry." His expression is grim. Finally, he nods, once, before the door is shut in her face.

* * *

She arrives home somehow, face wet with tears. Stan and Gavin are home; they take one look at her, and chivvy her to her room, relieving her of her coat and hat.

"Darling, are you alright? Are you hurt?" cries Gavin.

"Of course she's not alright, Gav; she's _crying."_

"Not really in the mood for your comedy routine, guys," she says, mopping her face with her sleeve; Gavin tuts and hands her tissues.

"Sorry."

They hover nervously, exchanging glances. "You… you wanna talk about it?" asks Gavin nervously, "unless, of course, it's your – time of the month." He looks like he's about to say more, but Stan elbows him hard.

She tries to say no, she really does; but her face crumples with a fresh round of sobs. Through her tears, she's aware of the boys fleeing her room.

* * *

The door opens again. "I really appreciate you guys trying to be supportive, but I'd really like to be alone now," Marley says tiredly.

The bed dips under a person's weight; the newcomer says nothing, but a hand strokes her hair.

Her heart swells. "Quinn?" Marley sits up.

Quinn smiles at her. Hands brush hair away from Marley's face, and she's suddenly self-conscious of what a mess she must look. But when she tries to turn away, Quinn's hands keep her in place, thumbs stroking her cheeks.

She falls. Quinn catches her.

* * *

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Quinn's voice is steady, devoid of pressure or even curiosity. She doesn't lift her cheek from where it's pressed against the top of Marley's head, nor move her arms from around Marley's waist.

By this time, she's all cried out. Marley feels drowsy, snuggled into her best friend like this; it reminds her of how her mother used to hold her after a nightmare, when she was younger. "I broke up with Alex."

"What?"

"It wasn't working out. I… we talked, and mutually decided to end it." The lie slips out easily, and Marley's almost appalled at herself. She's afraid that Quinn will judge her if she said that she was the one who broke up with Alex for the simple reason that she doesn't love him as much as he loves her. Of course, there's the greater, more rational part of Marley who knows that won't happen, but that's not the part that takes control today.

For now, all she can think of is not having Quinn be disappointed in her.

"Oh." Quinn's hand starts up a rhythmic, circular pattern on Marley's shoulder. She leans into the touch automatically. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Me too."

"You guys seemed to be doing well."

"Seemed, I guess." She sits up, rolling her neck to ease the stiffness.

"Here, let me."

"You don't need to. I'm fine…" She trails off when Quinn fixes her with a stern look, then allows herself to be coaxed into turning around. Marley sighs when thumbs dig into the meat of her shoulders, soothing the tensed muscles.

"Better?"

"Mmmmm." She tries not to purr, but the sound comes out long and lazy, and she hears a laugh from behind. "I mean, much better. Thanks."

"Anytime." Quinn's fingers continue to move, the touch more gentle now. Finally, she drops her hands. Marley stretches.

"Thanks," she says quietly. "For coming."

Her friend just shakes her head, smiling.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Okay."

* * *

Marley refocuses her energy back into her music. There is so much left neglected and postponed, the pieces of her life set on hold to make room for Alex's.

Consequences, and her solutions to those consequences, are quickly evident.

"You want to _what_?"

She quails momentarily under the look on Santana's face, but soon gathers herself. "Revise the entire album," she repeats. "I've had a breakthrough, and I think that while it's good, it can be phenomenal."

Santana's frown deepens. "What kind of breakthrough? Have you been snorting cocaine with your music man?"

"Actually," she says calmly, "Alex and I broke up."

Santana's eyebrows go up. "The fuck?"

Rachel, who has been silent up until this moment, stirs herself to say " _Santana_ ," in a severe voice. It cows Santana instantly.

"It wasn't going well, and it showed in my work on your album," adds Marley. "I've been distracted over the past few months, and I'm sorry for that."

Santana just nods. "Okay."

She blinks. "Okay?"

"Okay. As long as you got your head screwed on right this time." Santana squints at her. "You do, right?"

And she pauses. Rachel shifts, attempting to make eye contact, and Marley takes a deep breath. "Yeah," she says, holding Rachel's gaze, "I do."

Rachel beams. Santana ruins the moment by saying, "Yeah, okay then."

* * *

Much to her dismay, Rachel corners her in the bathroom. "You broke up with Alex?"

"Yeah."

"That's good," says Rachel firmly. "It's not fair to you both if both parties aren't fully committed to the relationship. You're much better than I was."

"Thanks?" Marley's heard plenty of stories about Rachel's – and by association, Quinn's and Santana's – complex personal life, and she's hoping Rachel won't take this opportunity to overshare.

Rachel, however, doesn't seem to be in the mood for storytelling. "So… whatever your next move is, you know that Santana and I support you fully, right? I mean, it would be hypocritical of us to be anything but."

"Huh?"

Rachel's smile loses some of its brightness. "I, uh… shit. I think I've said too much."

And she would normally ascribe this to Rachel being Rachel, but Marley has the sneaking feeling she knows what this is about. "Said too much? About what?"

But Rachel's backpedaling with a speed that an Olympic cyclist would envy. "Nothing at all. I'm talking out loud, I've been told I do that too many times." And she scurries away before Marley can stop her.

* * *

She sips restlessly on her drink. Quinn's rarely late, but when she is, it's usually with good reason. With every minute that slips by in waiting, Marley's courage ebbs away.

Marley's had time to think it over. It was wrong of her to lie – or _not being forthcoming with all the facts_ , as Rachel put it – to Quinn about the circumstances surrounding her break up with Alex. Quinn has the impression that Alex was the guilty party and has been vociferous as a supportive best friend; Marley being Marley, she's felt guilty for it.

So that's what she's here for today. To set the record straight. It's what Quinn deserves, right?

"Hey." Quinn materializes in front of her, looking like thunder.

Marley blinks. "Are you okay? You look terrible."

Quinn grimaces. "About the same as I'm feeling, I'm sure. The usual shit day at work, plus Ethan – the new guy – hasn't gotten the memo about sexual harassment in the office and thinks himself Casanova reborn."

"What did he do?" Anger licks at the pit of her stomach.

"The usual; flirting, displays of dominance that he thinks would impress me, inability to take 'no, I'm not interested' for an answer." Quinn leans back in her chair but offers Marley a soft smile. "Nothing I haven't already fended off."

Marley stands. "What do you want? My treat."

"That's not necessary."

"Yes, it is." She stands her ground. "Can I get you a snack as well? I know we're on our way to dinner, but it can be something you can keep in your bag. I know you forget to eat lunch sometimes." It was something Rachel had often scolded Quinn for in the past when they lived together, and Marley has the sneaking suspicion Quinn's roommates aren't as meticulous in monitoring Quinn's eating habits.

Quinn winces, proving Marley correct. "Yeah – now that you mention it, I forgot to have lunch today."

"Quinn!"

"I… you know how it is, with work and all. I got caught up, that's all."

Marley's frown deepens. "That's it." She walks over to Quinn's side of the table, plucking at Quinn's sleeve. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go?" repeats Quinn. "Go where? I only just got here."

"We're gonna buy groceries – because I have no idea what's in your place – and then I'm making you a proper dinner. With leftovers that will feed you for the next couple of days." She's thankful that it's a Friday, and there's no homework or other things that require her attention. "Up, let's go."

"Bossyboots," complains Quinn, even though she's smiling. Obediently, she lets Marley walk her out the door and towards the nearest subway entrance.

"Would you prefer I tell my mom about it?" asks Marley, and grins when Quinn's eyes widen.

"Okay, okay. Forget I said anything."

"Honestly, Quinn; I know Coach Sylvester wasn't a fan of eating when you guys were on the Cheerios, but Santana doesn't have this problem."

"She's got Rachel."

"True," admits Marley. Rachel's vegetarianism meant that she had to prepare a lot of her own meals, and she religiously packs meals for a grudging Santana. "But now you have me."

Quinn gapes at her. "Huh?"

Marley giggles, emboldened by Quinn's reaction. "Yep. Once a week, I'll go over to yours. We'll make it a standing date."

"Date, huh?"

"If you'd like," she hastily adds.

Quinn shakes her head. She seems completely recovered from her initial shock at Marley's boldness. "No, that's fine. Date it is."

She's distracted from her staring when they reach Quinn's stop. Marley leads the way into the nearest supermarket and bodega, in that order, gathering ingredients.

Nicky is home when they arrive; his eyes widen when he sees how laden down they are with food, and he rushes to help. "Why'd you buy out the farm?" he asks, eyeing the army of bags on their kitchen table and countertops. "Is the zombie apocalypse happening?"

"Less snark, more helping, and you'll get lunch out of the deal," answers Marley. This is her area of expertise, and it's lent her the confidence and nerve to be saying these things to them. Hands on her hips, she surveys the groceries (organised according to recipe) and plans what to start cooking first.

"Wash and chop the veggies finely, please," she instructs Quinn, "and put them in the colanders. Nicky, are you helping?" The last is directed at Quinn's roommate, who startles from inside the fridge when his name is called.

"Uh, sure? What d'you need?"

She points at the packets of dried pasta. "Cook those _al dente_ , please."

"All those?"

"Yeah." Marley has no time for him as she starts marinating chicken, after setting the oven to preheat. Halley's Muslim, so it means they have two sets of kitchenware (because Quinn and the boys can't give up their pork); and Marley makes the fullest use of them. She peeks into their freezer and winces at the number of frozen dinner boxes tucked inside.

"They're Ed's," says Nicky automatically.

"Y'all have got to start eating healthier."

He salutes her with the spaghetti ladle. Marley ignores him.

"Quinn, let me know when you're done with the root veggies," says Marley. She has a baking tray, pot, and roasting pan set up.

Nicky does a double take. "How are you doing all this at once?"

"Marley's mom is the best and most popular caterer in Lima. Marley's pretty good herself," answers Quinn. Her head is down as she focuses on cutting potatoes evenly, and thus she misses the hot flush that steals over Marley's face.

"Cool."

With this much confidence invested in her, Marley can't help but feel the anxiety building. "I really hope it all turns out fine, though," she demurrs.

"It'll be more than fine." Quinn offers her a brief smile as she sets chopped potato chunks on the countertop beside Marley. "If I can make your mom's mac and cheese, you definitely can whip up meals for an entire week in one go."

"That's not quite the same."

Quinn just laughs.

Her spirits buoyed, Marley adds vegetables in the roasting pan, putting the whole thing in the preheated oven to roast. "We'll have roast chicken tonight," says Marley. She frowns briefly, running through her mental menu. "Then we can continue cooking afterwards."

"What cooking afterwards?" Halley, newly arrived, kicks off her shoes with a curse, and comes over. "Oh, food."

"Marley usurped the kitchen and I've never been happier," says Nicky by way of explanation. He playfully hipchecks Halley on his way to drain another batch of pasta.

"Oh, good. Gimme a sec to get out of this monkey suit and I'll come help." She disappears into her room.

Her work done for the time being, Marley wipes her hands on the back of her shirt and goes over to Quinn. "Want me to take over?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I'm good. Thanks for offering, though."

"You're sure? I don't have anything to do now."

She pushes aside a neatly chopped bundle of spinach. "I'm sure," says Quinn. "What, do you not trust my cutting skills?" She puts a hand on a hip, one eyebrow raised.

Marley sputters, caught off-guard. "Uh, no…?"

"Relax. I'm only kidding." Quinn laughs at her before turning back to her work. "Honestly, Marl; all these years and you still haven't learned to take a joke."

"You don't joke often," snipes Marley, still a little embarrassed.

"Nonsense, I'm hilarious."

"Ladies," interrupts Nicky. He has oven mitts on as he holds a steaming pot of pasta. "I'm done with the noodles. Where do I put this?"

"Uh, the sink?" Marley goes to check on the vegetables. Satisfied with their progress, she seasons the chicken so it'll be ready to put in once the vegetables are done. She plans to time it such that she can start the pot roast before dinner, and it'll have enough time for the meat to be tender and flavourful. She puts Halley – who's been hanging around waiting for orders – to work making the side dish of mixed salad for dinner.

Her mind's not really in the cooking, though. She still feels like something's happened, a moment interrupted by Nicky. She has a feeling she might know what it is, but it scares her to delve deeper.

By the time Ed arrives, dinner is on the table, the meal prep for afterwards finished, and she's gotten the pot roast settled in the slow cooker. "Did I miss something?" asks the big man genially. "It must be big, if you've gotten the little ladies in aprons."

"Shut up Ed; at least I look good in it." Nevertheless Quinn hands him a plate.

"No seriously; why did I come home to Martha Stewart, Rachael Ray, Bobby Flay, and Guy Fieri in my kitchen?" As he names each chef, he points to Quinn, Marley, Halley, and Nicky in turn; the latter two scowl at him.

"Marley decided we weren't mature enough to make food decisions for ourselves, and magnanimously took over," announces Nicky. Quinn elbows him.

"Ungrateful. Marley's doing us a huge favour," says Quinn. She glares at the rest of her household, giving only Marley a soft smile. "She can't keep doing it, and I expect you lazy creatures to pull your weight. Honestly, she contributes more to this house than all of us, and she doesn't even live here."

"You didn't have a problem before," mutters Nicky. Quinn ignores him.

Marley doesn't know how to react. There's an undercurrent of awkwardness, yet Quinn has her chin raised. "Quinn's right," says Halley after a pause. "Thanks for everything, Marley."

The men murmur their agreement, and Quinn's shoulders relax.

* * *

"Well," says Marley, pulling her coat on, "I guess that's about it? Remember to let the pot roast cool completely before you freeze it. The pasta's been divided into portions, so you can…"

"... defrost accordingly. I got it the first time," Quinn finishes for her patiently.

Marley looks away, embarrassed. "Oh. Okay."

"Relax," says Quinn, playfully bumping her with an elbow. "It'll be fine. We're big boys and girls."

"If you say so." Sufficiently bundled, Marley throws her arms out for a hug, which Quinn eagerly gives.

And she remembers the original purpose of their meeting today, which she'd completely forgotten in her zeal. Marley's buoyant mood deflates, and she pulls back. "Quinn?"

"Mmm?"

"I… uhm, there's something I need to tell you."

"Okay?" Quinn becomes serious immediately.

Marley kind of hates that she has such shit timing. She's dressed to go out, already sweating a little from the heat of being indoors, and the chatter from behind Quinn is proving distracting.

She makes her decision.

"Just… remember to defrost the stuff properly before you reheat it," says Marley lamely.

Quinn shoots her a quizzical look, but nods anyway. "Of course."

* * *

Once home, Marley flops on her bed. "Idiot," she mutters into her pillow. It's simple, just to tell Quinn the truth about her and Alex, but – what _is_ the truth? She can imagine that conversation: not being able to explain why she didn't develop feelings for him. He had no problem telling her he loved her.

Of course, Marley knows that Quinn, being her best friend, will accept whatever answer she's willing to give. She knows it as a fact, and yet; her tongue stays still and the words stick in her throat. "Stupid," moans Marley. She flings her face back into the pillow.

Right on cue, her phone rings. Marley cracks open an eye to check the caller ID before answering the call and putting it on speakerphone. "Hey, 'Nique."

"Heyo, babe. It's Saturday night; are you out? It's really quiet."

"I'm at home."

"What? Why?"

She rolls over. "I broke up with Alex." She's glad she put the call on speaker, because the resulting screech would have deafened her if she had the phone close to her ear.

"What? _Why_!"

"It wasn't working out."

"I call _bullshit_." The background noise fades away, as though Unique's moved into a quiet room. "Marley Rose, you tell me the truth why you broke up with that man."

"I told you!"

There's an angry tutting noise. "Babe! We don't keep secrets from each other. Whatever you tell me, is safe with me."

Marley sighs. "... I know, 'Nique, but I… I'm just so messed up now. I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know, baby." Unique's voice is softer, more gentle now. "Let me help you. Okay? Tell me everything."

She rolls onto her back, pillow clutched to her chest, staring up at the ceiling. "... he said he loved me."

Silence. She gnaws on the knuckle of her pointer finger while waiting. Finally, Unique repeats slowly: "You broke up with him because he said he loved you?"

"It's stupid, I know – " begins Marley.

"– don't say that," interrupts Unique harshly. "Don't put your instincts down. If you bailed out, it means something wrong, just that your brain hasn't caught up with your gut yet. Go on. So you broke up with him?"

She screws up her eyes. "Yeah."

"Do you regret it?"

Marley blinks back the tears that threaten to fall. "... No."

"Oh, honey," says Unique. She makes shushing noises over the phone until Marley's sobs ease. "Why are you crying, sweetie?"

"I don't know. I feel… I feel bad for leading him on for so long, and then… he's perfect, Unique. I tried so hard to be the girlfriend he wanted, but I couldn't."

"Babe. Listen to me," commands Unique. "You're right. Okay? You're right; he's perfect. But," she continues in a gentler tone, "he's not perfect for _you_."

"... What?"

"Do you remember what I said, years ago? When we'd just graduated high school?"

It hits her like a freight train to the chest. "Oh my god."

"Yes, sweetie."

"I thought… no way," she insists over the tightening of her chest. "She's my best friend, and we've been best friends for so long. She doesn't see me that way, and I can't ruin this friendship. It was a joke, 'Nique, just a joke."

"At first I thought it was," answers Unique carefully, "but the way you guys are together, and the way she looks at you…"

"How does she look at me?"

"You don't know?"

"She's my best friend," says Marley weakly.

"Sweetheart. _I'm_ your best friend, and _I_ don't look at you the way Quinn Fabray does."

"You're not a lesbian."

"I'm also not in love with you."

"Stop saying that!" Marley snaps. "Quinn's not in love with me. I'm not in love with her. We're best friends; I'm just being stupid and confused after I broke up with the perfect guy and I don't even know _why_."

Unique is silent for a while. "Do you?"

Marley can't answer.

"Baby. I'm not saying _I'm_ right, but I'm not saying _you're_ right neither," Unique starts. "I'm not in New York. I can't be there to watch your girl and give you all the answers. All I'm saying is – based on what I know and have seen – it's not as complicated as you think it is."

Her throat dry, Marley croaks: "I… have to go. Bye, Unique."

At the very least, her friend doesn't try and stop her. Marley tosses the phone to a safe distance and lets the tears fall.

* * *

The vacuum left in her life by Alex shouldn't be a vacuum – and yet, there it is. So much of her free time was spent going out with him, to concerts and gigs and dinners. Marley didn't mind any of it, she honestly didn't. Yet, the contrast between how she alone chooses to spend her free time, versus with Alex…

But there's no time for moping. She has projects to do, a thesis to write, and Santana's album to rework. Marley even fills the odd shift for Oscar when she can – like tonight. It's rare she gets called in on a Thursday night, but two girls on staff called out sick, and Oscar doesn't trust that she's eating enough (his words when he called her to come down).

"Rosie!" he calls when she steps into the restaurant. "Finally! My God, you get skinnier each time I see you. Thank you so much for working tonight."

"Hi, Oscar." She accepts the clap on the shoulder on her way to fetching her employee uniform from the locker in the back.

"Have you eaten? We have a cornucopia today; loads of wrong orders. I swear, these people need to learn not to chew over their words before they speak. They are not tasty like my food!"

"I'll eat later," she promises. Marley dons her apron and goes out on the floor. Tonight, ironically, she's looking forward to a break from work; she loves the feeling of helping people enjoy a good meal.

The only other waiter on the floor is the still-hapless Philip. In between orders, he happily informs her that he's an aspiring theatre actor, and he's gotten his first callback.

Marley sighs. She can imagine the expression on Oscar's face when he finds out.

Philip jerks as he spots a customer from over Marley's shoulder, scuttling to seat them, grabbing menus as he goes. She smiles and goes back to cleaning cutlery. "Um, Marley?"

She sighs again. "Phil, we've been over this. Do you need me to go over the menu code again?"

"Huh?" He gapes at her. "Uh, no, the customer asked for you. By name." He pouts, thinking of the tips he won't be getting, and jerks his head at the table.

Marley stares. "Quinn?"

She waves. "Hey."

"Okay, this whole showing up unexpectedly thing just got creepy. Even for you. Because – wow, I wasn't expecting you to show up here."

"Me neither," says Quinn lightly, "because I'm actually here on a date."

"You – what?"

Quinn shrugs a shoulder. "He works in my department, and over the past few months, apparently, he's been working up the courage to ask me out."

"Oh. Wow. That's – great," manages Marley, because for many reasons she's not about to share with Quinn, it really isn't. "I won't get in your way, then."

"Marley, wait." Quinn's fingers catch the tail end of Marley's apron. "We're still on this weekend, right?"

She presses her lips together. She'd been all for making up some excuse about work to avoid Quinn while she decides what to do with herself and her feelings, but put on the spot like this, Marley finds it impossible to lie to those bright hazel eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Beaming, Quinn releases her. Marley ducks into the kitchen, heading into the storeroom, closing the door behind her. She finds a sack of rice to sit on as she buries her face in her hands.

It's not fair to everyone. Quinn deserves to be happy (and so does she, although Marley ranks her own happiness below Quinn's). She doesn't own Quinn; she doesn't have the right to feel hurt and betrayed like this. And yet, the prick of the needle deflating the bubble Unique had put into her head… Unique was wrong. She was right. Quinn doesn't feel that way about her. And she doesn't…

She _shouldn't_ have let herself feel that way about Quinn.

Marley scrubs at her face with her sleeve. Her cheeks tingle; she'll probably need to wash her face before heading back out on the floor. For now, she's in no hurry.

The sous chef, Dan, stops his plating to stare at her as she exits the storeroom. "Hey, Rosie. What's eating you?"

Marley jerks, surprised. She forces a smile, shaking her head. "Nothing. School stuff."

He wags a finger at her. "Leave your troubles in the school, girl. Or quit. Come learn how to cook _sous vide_ , that'll be a nice surprise for your ol' mom."

"Just because you dropped out of culinary school doesn't mean we all can be the Bill Gates of cooking like you," Marley says, smiling. "Dan… do me a favour though?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I help you for a bit? I don't wanna go on the floor right now."

He grins at her. "Sure thing. Here, wanna make this vinaigrette for me?"

She does. Working is therapeutic, but not as much as cooking. Marley rolls her sleeves to the elbows and washes her hands as Dan rattles off the ingredient list for her dish. Her hands don't stop moving, her mind stays just as busy, but eventually the inner noise loses some of its potency.

Dan samples her vinaigrette and kisses his fingers at her. "Forget music school, go cook," he laughs, drizzling some over two portions of salad and adding garnishes. "Here, take these out before Oscar has my head for keeping you too long."

Marley does. It's substantially more busy outside; just as she delivers the salads to their table, she's fishing her order pad out of her pocket to take another table's order, and telling another diner she'll refill their water in a minute.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Quinn laughing with a dark-haired man. Marley tears her gaze away, asking the table to repeat that last order.

* * *

At the end of her shift, Oscar sits her down in the kitchen with what looks like a bucket of pasta, and a terse command to eat. She does; mostly because Dan made it, and partly because she hasn't had her dinner yet.

She has no appetite, but eats anyway, and flashes a thumbs-up at Dan when he asks her how is it.

* * *

Marley wakes up late. She'd been plagued with nightmares which she can't remember now. It's Saturday, so it's her day to feed Valentino.

"You're so lucky you're a fish," she grumbles, sprinkling pellets into the water and watching as he snaps at them. "You don't have all these problems."

The fish fixes her with a beady stare and swims away. Marley sighs, and goes off to shower.

The conundrum remains of Quinn and Brooklyn. Marley can't very well say she suddenly has other plans, but she knows she can't be around Quinn right now.

Ryder and Jake were easy. They appealed to different parts of her, and everytime she came close to picking one, the other would do something to change her mind – to this day, Marley still sympathises with Archie Andrews. But this is different. She stands to gain nothing or lose everything – which isn't an ideal situation.

One of Santana's songs talked about this. She'd remixed it at least three times before she was comfortable with the message.

While this is going on in her head, Marley dresses on autopilot, automatically going for leggings and a T-shirt. Her brow furrows when she spots a sock out of place, and hunts through her clothes for its sibling.

Her phone goes off again. Her forehead puckers more when the sound doesn't abate; Marley heaves a long-suffering sigh and goes to pick up the call.

"Hey, girl."

Her frown relaxes somewhat. "Hey, 'Nique. What's up?"

"Nothing much. You free now?"

"Yeah? I'm at home, about to go out."

"Great. In your room?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

"Let's have coffee. Or chocolate milk, you dork. Because this huge bottle can only be yours."

Marley beams suddenly. She throws open the door to find Unique standing there, her phone held to her ear. "Surprise," says Unique, both to her, and over the phone.

"You dork!" Laughing, she grabs Unique tightly and squeezes her. "You couldn't just let me know you're coming up, could you? Who let you in?"

"Oh, now where's the fun in that? Besides, isn't that one of the things your best friend does? And I climbed in the window."

Marley frowns.

"Kidding. I ran into Andie while she was on her way out."

"Ah."

"Where are you headed, dressed like the bottom of your closet? Meeting Quinn?"

Marley's mood darkens a little at the mention of Quinn. Unique tuts.

"You're still hung up about that?"

"No, just that I… I'm actually on my way to her place. We have a standing arrangement on weekends for cooking." Her explanation starts to falter under Unique's hard gaze.

"Cooking what?"

"Uh… healthy meals for the week."

Unique's eyebrow climbs an inch higher. "For Quinn?"

"For everyone in her apartment," defends Marley. She quickly turns and busies herself with the kettle, then searches for teabags. "It's cheaper, and way more nutritious than buying lunch."

"Lord, give me strength."

Marley folds her arms across her chest. "You didn't come all this way to judge me, did you?"

"Nope." Unique pops the 'p' with relish. "I'm here to be your best friend. You do know you're only half-done, right?"

Marley sighs. "What are you talking about, Unique?"

Her best friend sighs. "Marley. Babe. Losing the guy doesn't mean that you automatically get the girl of your dreams."

"Oh, my god. Why are you still on that? This isn't a romcom."

"No," acknowledges Unique, "but it might as well be."

"She's not even gay."

"Look, I don't make the rules, okay? She likes you, and you like her. You've liked each other for ages, just that you were oblivious and it took a couple of failed relationships for you guys to realise that."

"Unique, if I wanted your two cents I'd let you know."

"That's something I've always wondered about, y'know; if you give a penny for someone's thoughts, but you put your two cents in, what happens to the other cent."

"Admin fees," says Marley brusquely. The kettle sings, and she goes to pour water into two mugs, leaving the kitchen shortly after.

"Where're you going?"

"I need to text Quinn. Tell her I can't go over, since my _other_ best friend unexpectedly showed up in New York for the weekend," says Marley, eyeing the rolling suitcase parked in the corner of her living room.

Unique waves a hand. "Oh, right. Yeah, you don't need to do that."

"What? Why?"

"I already called her on the way here. We're all going out for dinner and drinks tonight; you, me, Quinn, and her friends." Unique beams at her. "We're all gonna have so much fun."

Marley's phone falls to the floor, hitting the wood with a dull thump.

* * *

"I hate you so much."

"No, you don't. You love me, only you love _love_ Quinn Fabray, and I love you enough to want to help salvage that ship." Unique gives herself soaring wings with eyeliner, admiring her reflection.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I ship it. I ship you guys. If you and Quinn were an actual ship on the sea, I'd be the wind in your sails."

Marley shakes her head. "You're crazy. This is crazy. Are you drunk? Did someone slip something into your drink? Are you even Unique Adams? This is a pretty good imposter, though."

Unique ignores her. "The girl who's rambling to herself about alcohol and impersonators, calling me crazy? Good one, girlfriend." She crosses the room to Marley's dresser, rummaging through the clothing; Marley's squeak of protest goes unnoticed. "Isn't this just like old times? You and me, getting ready for the social event of the summer. New York is a pretty big step up from Noah Puckerman's booze-soaked socials in his mom's backyard, though."

She flings herself back on the bed with a thump. "I'm dreaming," says Marley firmly, "this is all a bad dream, and any moment I'm gonna wake up on Saturday morning and feed Valentino."

Unique snorts. "You're obsessed with that fish."

"He doesn't drag me out on surprise outings like someone does."

"He's a damn fish, and you're the one who maintains his Instagram account. If that's not obsession, I'll eat my MAC Technakohl."

Marley decides it's a battle she can't win. She covers her face with both hands. "Unique, I'm scared," she confesses.

"Oh, honey." Unique completely abandons her preparations to sit on the bed, her hand brushing Marley's hair from her forehead. "I know. It's gonna be okay."

"What if you're wrong? What if _I'm_ wrong?" Cold dread settles in the pit of her stomach. "What if I was wrong about Alex?"

"You're not wrong," answers Unique fiercely. "I believe in you. Now c'mon, we'll be late."

She lets Unique drag her out, dread continuing to build. They've all hung out like this once before, and she remembers that being simultaneously the best and worst time of her life – and this time, Unique has an agenda.

Quinn is already there when they arrive. "Hey, guys."

"Quinn! You look amazing." Unique hugs her. "I love your coat."

"Thanks. You look great as well." Quinn checks her phone. "S and Rachel are running late."

"That's unusual for Rachel."

Quinn grimaces. "Not when Santana's involved."

It takes her a while to grasp her meaning. "Oh. Oh!"

"Just don't let them touch you; you don't know where that hand's been," suggests Unique with a devilish smirk, and gets smacked on the arm for her pains.

"We can order first, if you're hungry," says Quinn. "We don't have to wait for them. Especially you, Unique; when did you reach?"

"Sometime after lunch." She picks a lime soda, and Marley makes it two. Quinn adds an apple juice to their order.

"What brings you to New York this time?"

Although she's not religious, the innocuous question makes Marley look up to the sky and pray for a miracle.

"Surprising Marley," says Unique in her silkiest tone of voice. "I heard about Alex, and decided to come up for a girls' weekend."

"That sounds great."

"Of course, you and Rachel are more than welcome to join," adds Unique, "the more the merrier, after all."

Quinn arches an eyebrow, clearly trying and failing not to look amused. "Not Santana?"

"Please, you've known her longer than I have. She'll scoff when we invite her, but she'll show up anyway with some lame excuse about Rachel forcing her."

"That's true." Quinn turns back to Marley after checking her phone. "They'll be here in ten."

"Oh, by the way," interrupts Unique, "I wasn't joking about the girls' weekend. Do you have anything planned tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I really didn't have anything planned…" muses Quinn, flicking open her phone.

"Excellent. Come over at noon tomorrow."

Marley tries not to gape at them. " _Unique_ ," she hisses, kicking her best friend's shin under the table. Unique's smile freezes a little.

"I'd love to," says Quinn, smiling, "but I'm fairly certain you should consult the hostess before inviting guests."

The smile Quinn gives her is enough to bolster Marley's courage sufficiently for her to say: "You'd definitely be invited to whatever I plan. Unique, on the other hand…"

Unique smirks. "Fair enough," she says, sipping her soda.

Rachel chooses that moment to arrive, an amused-looking Santana in tow. "Hey, ladies! Sorry we're late. What'd we miss?"

"Nothing much." Quinn arches an eyebrow as her eyes sweep over Rachel and Santana. "However, I don't think S missed her opportunity." Santana cackles; Quinn immediately looks disgusted. "What, _really_? You're disgusting."

Rachel appears oblivious to them as she warmly greets Marley and Unique. "So. Dinner?"

* * *

Marley is powerless in her own home. Unique, already a force of nature normally, sweeps through her house getting things done. Andie, though invited to join their girls' hangout, regretfully declines because she has a date.

(Gavin invites himself but quickly makes alternative arrangements when Unique threatens to geld him with her fingernails. Stan stumbles over himself to say he's out the entire day.)

"What's up with him?" wonders Unique aloud.

"Dunno."

But Unique is distracted examining the fridge and cupboards, making sure there are enough healthy and filling snacks for Marley. "But there's nothing for real people to eat," she concludes.

Marley rolls her eyes. "I'll let you get on with it."

But less than ten minutes later, she finds herself at her corner store, putting items on a list into her shopping basket, half-wondering what she's doing here.

It's really not a mystery; she loves her friends, and is secretly thrilled about getting to spend time with them. What's more, she loves that she'll be surrounded by most of her favourite people.

"Oh, hey." Quinn materialises at her elbow. "Don't you have plenty of food in the house?"

Marley sighs. "Not good enough for Her Highness." As she puts Cheetos into her basket, it sinks in. "Quinn!"

"I was wondering when you'd notice," replies her friend, eyes bright, an amused smirk on her face. "I like how you took it for granted I'm here."

"Yes, well," says Marley to cover up her embarrassment, "you're kinda like background material."

Quinn just rolls her eyes at her.

* * *

Santana and Rachel are already in the apartment when they return, sifting through the contents of Rachel's portable hard drive. Santana lifts her head when the front door opens. "Q! About time, come tell the hobbit that _27 Dresses_ is better than _Sleepless in Seattle_."

Rachel scoffs. "The only appealing thing about _27 Dresses_ is Katherine Heigl, and that does not include her woeful lack of chemistry with James Marsden."

"You take that back, short stuff."

"Why can't we watch them both?" asks a bemused Marley.

"We only have time for the best movies."

"Disney!"

"Sure – if you can pick just _one_ , Rachel."

Rachel gasps.

Deciding that she doesn't want to be present for the fallout, Marley goes to the kitchen to unload her groceries. "I don't even know where I'm supposed to put this," she grumbles under her breath.

In the end, she decides to open up the popcorn and pretzels, emptying the bags into two serving bowls and taking them back to the living room. She finds Unique monopolising one end of their couch, Santana at the other end, Rachel on her right, and Quinn on Rachel's right. _Maid in Manhattan_ plays on the TV.

She slots herself between Quinn and Unique, earning a smirk from Santana.

"Jealous, honey?" teases Unique.

Santana snorts. "Not on your life, Aretha #2."

* * *

Marley has trouble suppressing her yawns towards the end of _Tangled_ – much to Rachel's dismay and Unique's amusement.

"I think it's about time we got ready for bed," says Quinn.

"Sure, mom."

Quinn chucks a throw pillow at Santana. It snacks her square in the face, making her squawk.

To save the rest of her pillows, Marley shoos everyone away while she tidies the living room. Surprisingly enough, they've left the place in relatively good order, given that they've consumed approximately eight bottles of wine between the five of them.

She yawns again. She's never been good at holding her alcohol.

By the time she heads to her room, the sight of four girls greets her. Rachel – even more touchy-feely when drunk – has her arms wrapped around Quinn's as she sprawls on Marley's bed. Her head rolls from side to side as she laughs at some stupid joke Unique makes. Santana seems perfectly content to have traded her girlfriend for a bottle of Stoli.

"There you are!" crows Rachel. Her enunciation is surprisingly excellent for her level of inebriation. "The room is spinning. Come lie down with us before you spin off into space."

"Useless lightweight," grumbles Santana. She takes a swig of vodka.

Marley very obligingly goes to sit on the bed, glad that she chose to sacrifice walking room for a bigger bed, and gets tugged closer. It holds three girls (now four) uncomfortably piled together (Unique's already claimed the floor and set up her nest). "Are you okay?" she asks Quinn.

Quinn shrugs. "I've been worse." She's pink in the face, but she's also the fairest out of the five, so Marley knows it's not an accurate indicator of her state of inebriation.

Santana eyes her nervously. "She'll puke any moment."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. You almost got my shoes at Schue's wedding. You're lucky you were still looked fuckable after tossing your cookies in the toilet bowl."

Rachel scowls but doesn't say anything.

Santana turns to Marley. "Make sure she pukes it all up before she sleeps. Trust me."

"Right," says Marley uncertainly.

Quinn huffs angrily. "For god's sake – ! Let's just go so our precious Snixy can sleep peacefully and puke-free." She stands up surprisingly quickly, reaching for Marley's hand, and tugs her out into the hall. She doesn't say a word until they go into the bathroom and Quinn locks the door behind them.

Marley doesn't need to ask. Her fingers – previously passively clutched in Quinn's – curl around the older girl's hand. Quinn glances at their entwined hands, then up at Marley. She smiles.

"Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that," retorts Marley, "you look like you're gonna keel over anytime."

Quinn snorts. "I'm not _drunk_."

"You had most of that Merlot, didn't you?"

"San started it! One sip for each time there was some fantastic coincidence that brought the lead couple together…" She trails off.

Marley tries to keep the amusement off her face and fails. "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before."

"'M not _that_ drunk," she amends.

"Sure, sweetheart." The endearment slips out of her automatically. Quinn doesn't seem to notice. "Hey – maybe you should wash your face before we head back? You'll feel better, at any rate."

She nods. Marley waits by the door as Quinn turns on the tap, splashes a few handfuls of water over her face, drying off with the hand towel hanging on the side. "Okay," says Quinn, "let's go."

Back in Marley's room, the lights are off. Santana is barely visible both because of the faint light from outside, and she has Rachel curled up on top of her, snoring softly. "About time," she says without looking up from her phone, "we were about to send out a search party."

Quinn ignores her. She gets busy setting up a place on the floor; Marley takes the comforter from her hands. "You go lie down," she insists, "I'll do it."

"I'm fine."

"That may well be, but I want to do this for you." She grasps Quinn's elbow, guiding her to the bed and pushing at her shoulders until she lies down grudgingly. "I'll come get you when I'm done."

Quinn pouts but rolls onto her side, away from Santana and Rachel, making no move to get up.

Marley has special permission to borrow her roommates' spare bedding for the night; she and Unique planned it such that if she moves her nightstand and chair outside, there's enough space in the room to hold all five of them for the night.

It doesn't completely exclude the risk of stiff necks, of course, but it's the best she can do with her current circumstances.

When she's done, she picks her way back to Quinn (Unique's dozed off by this point in the night). "C'mon," she says, shaking Quinn's shoulder, "let's go. This is the last time I'm gonna bug you, I promise."

Quinn opens an eye. "So fast?"

"It's just a makeshift bed. Come on."

Her friend scrunches up her face. Marley knows Quinn isn't a morning person, but she hadn't expected it to be this bad. "Why can't we stay here?"

A hot blush starts over Marley's face as she mutters: "This bed can't hold all four of us; three is already a stretch as it is."

The mattress shifts. Santana and Rachel are suddenly gone from beside Quinn. "Santana? Rachel!" Marley fumbles to prop herself up, craning her neck to check if they've fallen off. She finds them lying on her makeshift bed, and there's… giggling?

"Why's your bed so uncomfortable, Rose?" grouses Santana. "This is wayyyy better." She lets her face fall into the pillow, releasing a grunt of satisfaction.

"Firm mattresses are essential for preventing chronic back problems later in life," Rachel informs them sleepily. Santana smiles softly at her, kissing her forehead.

Even though Marley finds this rare display of affection from her abrasive friend incredibly adorable, it doesn't explain what's going on. "... Did you guys fall off?"

Santana snorts. "No. We did you a favour. Now go cuddle up to your girl and get some shut-eye."

"What…?" She realises Santana's right. While three is a stretch, two can share her bed comfortably – and it seems she and Quinn are those two. Which wouldn't be a problem, ordinarily, but given the struggling she's been doing recently about the nature of her feelings for her best friend… "Santana!" she hisses.

Silence. Marley groans.

Quinn stirs. "Marley? What's wrong?"

"... Nothing." Quinn, she decides, isn't sober enough to vent to. Marley will just wait until tomorrow to chew Santana out – perhaps with Rachel's help, once the other girl's sobered up enough to understand what she was an accessory in. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmm. You too. It's late." Quinn reaches up and slings an arm around her middle. It's incredibly awkward, but Marley manages to lie on her side with Quinn behind her. "Good night."

"Good night, Quinn."

"I can't keep doing this to myself."

"Huh?" She hadn't expected an answer, let alone to a question she hadn't even asked. "Doing what?"

"Wanting things I can't have."

"Like what?"

"Who," Quinn corrects her.

"Who?"

But she gets soft, rhythmic breaths in lieu of a verbal answer.

* * *

The next morning is like every other sleepover she's ever had with her friends. She wakes first and heads to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Except this time, Unique is up before her, waiting for the coffee to finish percolating. "Morning, babe."

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

Marley squints at her friend. Her expression is void of mischief, and so she answers the question. "Pretty good, but then again I got the bed. How about you?"

"Splendid. Gavin has the best pillows; so cushy."

"Mmm."

The coffeemaker stops humming. Unique pours herself a mug, then fetches milk for Marley – who shakes her head when she sees the glass. "Actually – could you pour me some coffee, please?"

"What's the occasion?" And she looks like she wants to say something more, but she remains silent as she sets the coffee before Marley.

Marley tips a bit more black coffee into Unique's mug before filling the mug with milk. She sips it, as Unique makes a face in the background. "I feel like having something stronger this morning."

" _Stronger_."

"You have your quirks, I have mine."

"Pfft."

The suspense is killing her. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you gonna say anything?"

"About what?"

Marley's mouth opens and closes soundlessly. "About – you know what," she eventually manages, "you being here. All of it."

Unique just shrugs. "Sweetheart, if you can't even say it, you're in big trouble."

"About Quinn having feelings for me," says Marley, dropping her voice to a whisper, eyes not leaving Unique's. To her dismay, her friend just smirks.

"Well, I gotta say she'll be good for you."

She won't stare. She won't give Unique the satisfaction. "So you're still on board with this whole – Quinn and me thing?"

"Not just me. Everyone and their moms can see it. We had a talk about how ridiculous you two are being."

Marley slides a hand across her face. "You know – okay, never mind. I can't… this is hard enough as it is."

"Oh, sweetie. I know it is."

She takes a few more sips of coffee. "Did you ever feel like – you were on the verge of something big and terrifying, and you were risking everything?"

"That was me when I was gonna tell Andrew how I felt about him," says Unique very seriously.

Marley grits her teeth and nods. What she feels for Quinn has always been far deeper, far stronger than what she felt for Alex. She's aware she's letting herself be persuaded it's more than friendship, but… it doesn't feel hollow. It feels right.

A gut feeling is all she's got to go on, but it's better than nothing.

* * *

She gets home soon enough after seeing Unique off at the train station. The place seems too quiet without her best friend, like the laughter's been sucked out of it, leaving a void.

Alone, but not lonely. Marley's struggled with demons for a long, long time, but she's never done it alone; even though there are some things she must do on her own.

This is one of those things.

She takes a deep breath, holds it, and releases. Marley disappears into her room, armed with a newfound conviction, and resumes work on the album.

* * *

When she plays the entire remixed album for them, her hands are shaking so much over the controls. Rachel's been appreciative, as Quinn has, but Santana sits in silence the entire time.

Once the music ends, the silence that immediately follows is deafening. Marley clasps her hands before her and asks, "Well?"

"That was amazing!" Rachel exclaims.

Santana just shakes her head. "Fuck, Marley; this is gonna make us."

"Make _you_ ," she says.

"Us," insists Santana.

Marley goes magenta. She can feel her entire face burn; as she's swept into a hug, she buries her face in the shoulder of whoever's holding her.

"Hey, hey," says a familiar voice; Marley feels it rather than hears it. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I think so." She pulls away so she can wipe her face on her own sleeve and not be gross all over Quinn's shirt. Quinn doesn't let her go far, with both hands on the tails of Marley's shirt.

"Oh god, Rose, I know it was a compliment from _me_ but there's no need to cry," says Santana.

Marley laughs, but the tears don't stop flowing. "I know! I just… I've been an emotional mess lately."

Santana mutters something that sounds like "stubborn" and "useless" but Quinn's laughing again, pulling her back into a hug; Marley quickly forgets about it.

* * *

Rachel's pulled a few strings with old college friends, just as Santana's called in all the favours people owe her. Even Marley reaches out to graduated seniors to get that album out there as much as possible.

They end up booking a mini concert at a coffee shop performance space, with a small booth to sell physical copies (after much badgering from Rachel).

Marley's early, as always. She hovers outside the coffee shop, hesitant to go in because of the bustle of nervous energy that radiates from within. If she smoked, she'd be finishing off an entire pack by now.

When she turns, she spots Quinn emerging from the subway entrance. Marley beams, waving at her.

"Hey," says Quinn. "Aren't you going in?"

"I'm nervous," admits Marley.

Quinn peers curiously at her. "Well, you won't be singing tonight, so that's a load off your mind," she says teasingly.

Marley smiles. "I know, but I was a big part of the music as well. I want them to do well so bad."

Quinn pats her arm. "You all did a fantastic job. Just relax; tonight's for celebrating." And she leads the way into the shop, and into a scene of chaos. Rachel being Rachel is relentless in her perfecting of the finer details, practically a whirlwind of activity as she double and triple checks everything. Santana seems to be more abrasive than usual.

"Hobbit, quit crowding me. I told you, the mike is fine where it is."

"Fine, since you say so. I wouldn't know, I'm not the main performer, aren't I?"

Santana opens her mouth to retort – then Quinn wades into the fray. "Rachel, everything is fine," she says first, "we've all gone over the setlist and stage arrangements a hundred times. San, you're only being a royal bitch because you're scared; we all know that. Rachel – for some stupid reason, like being in love with you – is gonna put up with your crap but I won't. So fucking stop."

There's a beat, then Santana laughs. "Head Bitch still has her bite."

Quinn smiles tightly at her. "Of course. Now go out there and wow them."

Santana pales. "Fuck. This is really happening." Behind Quinn, more people have started trickling in; friends, acquaintances, even people Marley recognizes from McKinley High. Rachel takes her hand and leads her to one corner, whispering in low tones to Santana. Whatever pep talk she's delivering, Santana relaxes visibly. She takes the stage like she was born to it, fingers curling around the mike. On cue, the surrounding lights dim.

"Hey, guys. First, thanks to everyone for showing up tonight – including the ones Rachel threatened and arm-twisted into coming." There's light laughter; Rachel rolls her eyes, seemingly content with being out of the spotlight tonight. "Seriously, though, I'm really glad you're here tonight, sharing this big moment with me." Behind her, the backup drummer taps his hi-hat.

"Before I get into what y'all came here for, I gots to get the obligatory stuff out of the way. Thanks, guys, for letting me stage this here. Thanks to my excellent producer hiding in the corner over there. This album might've just been me complaining into a beer if not for you." She points at Marley, who instantly flushes when the cafe fills with applause; Quinn squeezes her knee reassuringly. "Shout out to you for taking my inherent awesomeness and turning it into fantastic awesomeness!"

"Inherent, really?" whispers Quinn into her ear. "She gets it from Rachel. Remind me to make fun of S for it later."

Marley giggles.

"And of course, the shortest person in this room." Santana pauses. "My girlfriend Rachel. The strongest, most supportive, most _infuriating_ woman I know. The inspiration, the driving force. She's the real star here." Loud applause and hollering follows, intensifying when Santana mouths something to Rachel, and blows her a kiss.

"This is the sweetest I've seen Santana be in public," whispers Marley. Quinn hums distractedly.

"Okay, enough with the mush." And the band kicks off the intro of the first song of her set.

* * *

They make their way home much later that night, even while the celebration party's still in full swing.

Quinn's taxi pulls up outside. "I'll see you tomorrow?" offers Quinn with her soft smile. She holds out her arms for a hug. "Good night, Marley."

Their hugs have never differed. Marley always feels like she's safe and comfortable. Now's her moment.

But no words come out, and she's left standing on the sidewalk, watching the taxi speed away. Marley grits her teeth.

When her taxi pulls up, she hops into it and rattles off a Brooklyn address she knows by heart.

* * *

Outside Quinn's apartment, she's seized by a mild anxiety attack that leaves her short of breath; her breathing exercises do work, but they take twice as long before her heart stops pounding.

She rings the doorbell.

Quinn opens the door; her furrowed brow clearing instantly once she recognizes who's at the door. "Marley? What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

She smiles nervously. "Hi. Nothing's wrong, I, uh, I thought that I should do the showing up unexpectedly thing at least once."

Quinn's furrowed brow doesn't ease. "At two in the morning?"

"I forgot to tell you something important earlier… I'm not keeping you up, am I?"

"Oh." Quinn steps aside to let her in. "You're not. I always have time for you. As a matter of fact, I've also got something important to talk to you about. Although," she adds with a wry smile, "it could have waited until a more decent hour."

"Yeah?" She sits on the couch stiffly, as though she's at a job interview. Marley hasn't been this scared since the time she was waiting for her first therapy session, years ago.

Quinn sits beside her, expression sober. "You've been acting really strange lately," she starts, "and I haven't pushed you into talking about it because I trust you, but Marley…" Quinn's voice cracks a little, as does Marley's heart. "You've been stressed out and panicky and upset, and it hurts me to see you struggle."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm at my wits' end. I even asked Santana and Rachel, but they said to ask you myself, and Unique said the same thing to me when she cornered me in the bathroom after dinner…"

"She _what_?"

"Okay, maybe not cornered. She just told me to be patient, and that you'd talk to me in due time." Quinn's hands cover hers, and squeeze.

Marley nods. There have been many times she'd had this opportunity to tell the truth, and many times she'd let it pass. This is it; this is her shot, and she's seizing it with both hands.

"You're right. There's something I need to tell you." She pauses, and takes a deep breath. "I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I've chickened out all of those times."

Quinn's expression doesn't waver.

"I haven't… I didn't tell you the entire truth, about Alex and me. The… why we broke up." She fidgets. "I broke up with him, but not completely because we weren't working out… I have feelings for someone else."

"What?"

"Yeah." Marley ducks her head. "I'm not proud of it. And apparently, I've been completely oblivious for a long, long time."

Quinn smiles sadly. "I know that feeling."

"I thought you might."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

Her heart feels like it's going to beat its way out of her chest. "Yeah. Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Close your eyes."

Still with that faint smile on her lips, Quinn complies. Marley takes the moment to just watch her without fear of being caught. Her heart swells, and she wonders how she's gone this long without acknowledging fully the depth of what she feels for Quinn Fabray – or acting on it.

Before she can think about what she's doing, Marley whispers, "I'm sorry," and leans forward. Her eyes flutter shut as she moves, and finally, _finally_ she brushes her lips against Quinn's, pulling back a second later.

Quinn's eyes snap open. "... Marley?" Her expression is unreadable.

"Quinn, I…" she begins, and trails off. There are no words for the emotions the kiss have evoked, nothing that could describe them accurately.

Mostly, Marley wants to kiss her again.

Quinn reads her mind.

Marley's eyes drift shut as she kisses back.

They part on a breath. Her heart feels like it's beating its way out of her chest in a way she's never felt before. She wants more, more, everything; all at once. She wants to breathe her in, drown in her, to be lost in this moment.

Quinn's eyes meet hers. They're hazy with emotion.

"Marley," she whispers.

Marley shakes her head. Whatever there needs to be talked about, whatever they need to do, it can wait. She's never felt so unrepentantly selfish in her life. Her fingers find Quinn's cheek, caressing the soft skin. Quinn's eyelids flutter shut.

Hands are gripping her shirt tightly – holding her close or holding on for dear life, she isn't sure – as Marley angles her face so they slide together, closer than before.

They kiss in silence until someone – Marley, maybe – runs her tongue over the seam of the other's lower lip; there's a low moan, and they come together again heatedly.

She's afraid her inexperience shows. All she's had were chaste kisses with the boys she's dated, clumsy and fumbling makeout sessions, and now she has this – _fire_ – that runs through her veins, that drives her on.

"Stop thinking," murmurs Quinn. She adjusts her position until she's hovering over Marley, and then they are kissing again. The sensations of Quinn's mouth on hers fill Marley with desire. Suddenly bold, she drifts her kisses lower, tracing Quinn's jaw – each kiss draws a whimper – and down her neck. Her tongue darts out and tastes heaven in every inch.

Quinn moans from somewhere above her. She's on top, but Marley's taking control, and slowly the balance starts to shift. Marley's arm wraps around Quinn's waist, her other hand supporting Quinn's face.

Their pace slows. She returns to Quinn's lips – her new favorite thing – and kisses her lazily, savouring each and every moment their lips are in contact.

Finally, Marley rests her forehead against Quinn's and tries to catch her breath; perfectly content.

Quinn's eyes flutter open. She looks dazed. "That was…" Her lips curve into a smile.

She's certain she's grinning like a fool, she can't help it. Her hand rests on Quinn's collarbone, feeling heated flushed skin. Marley doesn't want to stop touching her. "I like you," she says, almost wonderingly.

Quinn's lips curve into a smile. "I like you, too."

"I thought you didn't… couldn't like me that way."

" _I_ thought _you_ didn't like _me_ that way."

She stares at Quinn incredulously, then both burst into laughter.

"We're both idiots."

"Maybe," says Quinn, then angles her face forward to kiss her again.

But Marley pulls back immediately after. She has questions that gnaw at her, that even kissing Quinn doesn't dissolve. "Why me? You could have anyone."

Quinn's smile gentles at the edges. "I could, but they're not you. You've seen all of me, the mistakes I made, and you're not… you're still here."

Marley shakes her head. "Quinn…"

"You're not afraid of me," she says, looking small and vulnerable. Marley cups her cheek with a hand.

"Never."

Quinn chuckles, and the sound catches in her throat.

"You're the most incredible person I know," says Marley earnestly, "and I think I've always had feelings for you right from the start. It just took me a while to figure that it was more than one normally feels for a friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean… I've had crushes on both guys and girls. It just never crossed my mind that I could see you that way – and not until very recently, let alone that I could have you like this." Marley's thumb traces Quinn's upper lip. She breathes deeply, the scent of Quinn calming her in a way her exercises never quite achieved. "We probably should talk more about… this. Us," she says.

"Yeah." Quinn doesn't move, and so neither does she. "This is very sudden. One moment we're best friends, and the next you're kissing me."

Marley can tell that Quinn's teasing her. Someone needs to be serious, so she continues: "Is that what you want? For us to stay best friends, or…?"

Quinn's eyes flutter open, and she shifts so she can look at Marley properly, though she doesn't let go of Marley's hand; Marley didn't think it was possible for her to be more endearing. "I wouldn't be opposed to dating."

"I was afraid of ruining our friendship," says Marley, "in case I was horribly wrong about this, and you wouldn't want to talk to me ever again."

"But it was killing you." Quinn runs the back of her hand down Marley's cheek. "The same way it was killing me."

Marley blinks. "Killing you?"

"I thought it was my thing, developing crushes on girls I couldn't have," says Quinn with a rueful smile. Marley starts stroking her cheekbone with the ball of her thumb. "First Rachel, then Santana, then you. I tried to wait it out, to get over it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know, and I hurt you."

A soft kiss to her thumb makes Marley lift her head and look into hazel eyes. "That's past. Somehow, we got here, didn't we?"

"Somehow."

Marley tries to lean in to deepen the kiss, but Quinn shakes her head. "We need to talk properly," insists Quinn, "but not today, while we're still… distracted. Tomorrow. Or later today," she amends, wincing when she catches sight of the time displayed on her phone.

"Tomorrow," echoes Marley. Her brain sees the logic in this, but her heart wants nothing more than to continue kissing Quinn, making up for weeks of confusion and years of obliviousness.

With an effort of willpower, she draws herself away, and stands up. Still a little weak in the knees, riding on a high of emotion and adrenaline, Marley gathers her things and walks towards the door.

"I'll call you a taxi," says Quinn, pulling her phone out.

"Thanks."

Quinn walks her downstairs. They stand awkwardly together on the curb as they wait for the taxi. Marley wonders if it's still okay to hold Quinn's hand.

Quinn's palm slides against hers, their fingers automatically entwining. She's probably exaggerating, but the familiar gesture feels more intimate than before.

"You're red," says Quinn unhelpfully.

"Your fault." She lifts Quinn's hand to her lips, kissing the back of it; now it's Quinn's turn to blush.

The taxi chooses this moment to arrive. Marley turns to her. "See you tomorrow," she says.

"Okay. Marley?"

"Hmmm?"

Quinn draws her in and kisses her again. This time, it starts out passionate, mouths open. Marley swallows a moan as she responds, drawing Quinn closer to her, returning the fervour. With a last peck, Quinn steps back, somehow barely disheveled. "See you tomorrow," she says, a hint of a smirk on her face, turning on her heel and disappearing back into her building.

She is still dazed. Belatedly, she then remembers that Quinn's Cheerio motto had something to do with teasing and not pleasing. Marley gets into the back of the taxi – avoiding the smirking driver's eye – and bids him drive.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _The Bells_ by Lea Michele. Just in time for the weekend! Enjoy, friends! As always, extended notes to be posted to this story's page on my Tumblr. Hit me up at **yumi-michiyo**


	7. Part Six

**Part Six:** _What more could I lose, than what I found in you_

* * *

All in all, Marley thinks she might've gotten three hours of sleep. Her mind is buzzing nonstop, but it's the good kind of buzzing. It might be the adrenaline, it might also be hormones.

Giving up on getting more sleep altogether, she goes outside to search the pantry for a drink. Chamomile tea (which Rachel left behind the last time she was here) sounds pretty good. As Marley waits for the kettle to boil, she scrolls through her phone. Her thumb hovers over Unique's contact, and Marley wonders if it's a good idea to squeal to her best friend now, or wait until a more decent hour to squeal.

Halfway through her tea, she decides that since she's the self-proclaimed wind in her ship's sails (whatever the hell _that_ means), Unique deserves to know ASAP. So Marley dashes off a quick text and resumes drinking.

Her phone buzzes just as she's getting up to rinse her mug.

"Woman," says Unique, sounding like she's about to explode, "what in the H-E-double hockey sticks just happened. I'm looking at this text and still low-key freaking out. You're not shitting me, are you?"

"Nope," she says, and bites her lower lip, trying to suppress a giggle. Then Marley has to hold the phone at arm's length because the squeal Unique emits could shatter glass.

"Oh my god! Oh my GOD! You're not shitting me! It's on! This is real! Holy fuck, Marley, you have to tell me everything!"

"It's seven on a Sunday morning!"

"Listen – do you hear that? That is the sound of all the fucks I'm giving right now. Which is silence. I don't fucking care, Marley Rose, you are telling me every single detail, and then I am flying over there so I can hug you two tight and scream I TOLD YOU SO at the top of my lungs."

Marley's eyes widen. "Please don't."

"Okay, so that was an exaggeration but it'll be reality in five seconds if you don't start talking. So, Santana's album party? Then what?"

"She got a taxi back. Then I, uh, worked up the nerve to go after her."

Unique whistles. "Yes! You go, girl!"

"I told her the truth about me and Alex – y'know, that I broke up with him because I didn't really have feelings for him. Then I kissed her." It sounds so simple in retrospect, and Marley can't believe that's all that happened in between her showing up at Quinn's door and their kissing. "She kissed me back, which was really surprising because I didn't think in a million years that the person she had feelings for was me – "

"– hold up. Feelings for you, what?"

Marley clears her throat. "She, uh, told me that she had a crush on someone but that person was unavailable."

Unique emits another sharp shriek. "And when was this?"

"... Thanksgiving…?"

"... You useless woman," says Unique. Marley's certain she's shaking her head at her now. "When I get up there, I'mma strangle you. We could have saved so much effort in machination if you'd only cared to share that little fact."

"It could have been anyone!"

"No, it couldn't! That woman is just as stupidly in like with you as you are with her!" Unique snorts. "My god, we all thought that she was as oblivious as you! It would've made things so much less complex!"

"What? We _all_?"

"Uh… You know what? Mission accomplished, so whatever. Rachel and Snixy were in on it as well."

"... What."

"Look, just… go talk to Rachel. Just don't kill her, because if you do Santana will bitch at you for the rest of your life… On second thought, you're about as deadly as a baby bunny, and I've seen Rachel when she's got her game face on." Unique pauses, and there's muffled voices in the background. "Okay, I've gotta go, but I will be there! Soon! 'Drew, honey, since you're up, do you mind getting me my laptop? Bye, Marl!"

"Unique!" But all she hears is the flat tone of the ended call. She heaves a frustrated sigh, and then glances over at Valentino. The big fish barely spares her a glance as he circles his tank. "Do you ever feel like no one's listening to you?" asks Marley.

He makes no reply.

* * *

Since Marley's roommates are the polar opposite of Quinn's, Marley has the place to herself; so, it's Quinn coming over to finish their talk. Marley waits on the couch, feeling nervous again.

She almost jumps out of her skin when the doorbell sounds, and rushes over to let Quinn in. "Hi," she says, trying not to sound breathless (like she hasn't sprinted over to the door) or anxious (like she's been for almost twenty-four hours straight).

"Hey, Marley." Quinn smiles at her, dressed in her casual Sunday attire, complete with glasses perched on her nose. There's a moment in which they both stand and smile at each other like idiots, before Quinn rolls her eyes. "This is ridiculous," she says, and then she kisses Marley's cheek, which immediately flushes pink. "Could you get me some water, please?"

"Sure." She pours some for herself too, and returns to the living room to sit next to Quinn. Marley rests her hand on Quinn's knee and squeezes. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not a wink," answers Quinn very frankly. "You?"

"I think I dozed off for a couple of hours."

"Oh, good." She reaches over Marley's arm to get her glass. "So. Talking."

"Uh – yeah. About this." In lieu of having to put whatever they are into words, Marley squeezes Quinn's knee again. "Are we dating now?"

Quinn turns her head slightly so she's looking into Marley's eyes, her expression intense. "Do you want us to be?"

"Yes," says Marley a little too quickly.

The other woman smiles.

"I mean – this is kinda scary, and I've just broken up with Alex – technically for you – and I have no idea what to do." She takes a deep breath, and forces a smile. "But I want to try. Even though I'm terrified."

"Terrified? Of what?"

"What if this doesn't work out?" asks Marley quietly. "You're one of my best friends. I don't want to lose all that."

"You won't lose me." Quinn's hand gently pries at the hand on her knee, holding it. "Even if – _this_ – doesn't work out. I promise."

And she believes Quinn. It's hard not to, given her track record, given that Rachel and Santana are still in her life. "That's good. Though, I really don't want to dwell on that." Marley looks down at their entwined hands on Quinn's knee, and can't stop the grin spreading over her face. "I'm really – you have no idea how amazing this feels."

Quinn chuckles softly. "I think I can guess."

She lifts her gaze back to Quinn. "This is gonna sound weird, but can I kiss you now?"

"Like you have to ask." Then Quinn angles her face so her lips brush Marley's. Her eyes close, and her grip on Quinn's hand tightens as she kisses back.

"I was afraid of this," murmurs Quinn.

"Afraid of what?"

"That we were just gonna end up making out on your couch instead of talking." And yet she pecks Marley's lips immediately after that; the mixed signals are driving Marley wild.

"We talked last night, and just now," pointed out Marley playfully, "so technically, we're done." Slowly, she's slipping back into her usual comfortable self around Quinn. "Plus, I've got something important to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Are you free today?"

"Yes? Why?"

Marley grins. "I was thinking we could go out on our first official date." Her heart flutters in her chest as she says the words, and she's fairly certain the excitement on her face is mirrored on Quinn's.

"You've gotten it all planned out?"

"Not really," she admits. "I hadn't gotten as far as brunch, then the new gallery downtown. Maybe a nap somewhere in between, because last night was kind of a big deal."

Quinn smiles at her. "That sounds nice, nap and all." She stands up, tugging on Marley's hand so the other girl's pulled up with her. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, I – let me get my bag." She has to let go of Quinn's hand to do that, and she feels the loss immediately. But she needs to do adult things like check if she's got her phone and purse, then lock up the apartment. "Okay, what do you wanna eat?"

"How about that Mexican place we saw the other night? The one on Fiftieth?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, okay." Just like any other time they go out together, Marley links her arm with Quinn's – except this time, instead of keeping her hand around Quinn's arm, it falls lower so their fingers brush together. Quinn glances sideways at her. She takes hold of Marley's hand properly at the next crossing, and doesn't let go.

Marley blushes – and really, she's been doing a lot of that over the past twenty-four hours, she ought to get it checked out.

"I just remembered – I thought you had this big term paper due?" asks Quinn as they walk.

She groans. "Shit. Yeah, I forgot." With the fuss about Santana's concert and the excitement of her impending graduation — not to mention Quinn— Marley's completely forgotten.

"And just _when_ is it due?"

"... Wednesday?" She groans again; she only has half of it down, nowhere near to being finished.

Quinn shoots her a severe look. "You're going home after lunch."

"Whaaat?" whines Marley. "Quinn!"

"Cute as that was, it's cuter still that you thought that would work on me," says Quinn, her mouth twitching. "Ex-Head Cheerio, remember?" She pulls them into the little eatery and finds them a table.

"But…"

"But?"

"But it's supposed to be our first official date." And it's a low, low blow, but Marley just wants today to be perfect. And she can see, from the way Quinn crumbles a little, that it's working.

"Since when did you get this bratty?" says Quinn eventually.

"When it suits my purposes."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "You don't say."

Marley laughs then, because the look on Quinn's face is hilarious. "Okay, I'll admit I wasn't really expecting that to work, but I _am_ still a little disappointed we have to cut today short."

"Who said we will?"

"Huh?"

"The gallery will still be there next week," says Quinn. "Tell you what; we'll both go back to your place. I can find something to do."

"Most romantic date ever," says Marley, and it makes Quinn laugh.

Still laughing, Quinn fishes her purse out of her bag. "Come on, let's get some food, and then I can continue impressing you." Marley goes with her usual, but Quinn thought she would try something different from her usual, and breathes fire after taking her first bite.

"I'm impressed, alright," says Marley, arching her eyebrow in deliberate imitation of Quinn's facial quirk. She pushes her drink across the table to Quinn.

"You're not being serious, now, are you?"

"Nope…?" She laughs then, amused by the pout on Quinn's face – and the thought that she wants to kiss it away enters her mind. Marley's amusement quickly fades into embarrassment.

"What?" asks Quinn.

"Nothing."

But Quinn knows her too well. Once she's recovered from the spicy food, her hand rests on top of Marley's. Marley glances down, face going wobbly from the smile spreading across it.

* * *

She was frogmarched back to the apartment, and seated at her desk. "This is ridiculous," Marley dared to say.

"Less talk, more typing," replies Quinn. She has her phone in her hands as she sits on Marley's bed, not looking up as her thumbs move over the screen.

Marley sighs. She types disconsolately on the laptop, making random words for the sake of sounding busy, and then deleting them. "This isn't how I imagined today would be like," she grouses.

"Me neither." She hears rustling behind her; sneaking a glance, Marley notices that Quinn's made herself more comfortable on the bed, back against the pillows.

"Are you tired?" she asks, swiveling her chair around.

"A little."

"Go ahead and take a nap; unlike me, you don't have anything urgent due." Marley smiles warmly at her before turning back to her laptop. Even though she really, _really_ doesn't want to be favouring her work over Quinn – especially _now_ – Marley doesn't want to disturb her either. She pulls up a journal article that she's been procrastinating on reading for a while now, and gets to work.

* * *

Another page of the paper is nowhere near done, but Marley doesn't care. She sits up straight and stretches; she's done for today, and she'll just have to cram the rest of the work tomorrow and Tuesday. "Quinn? I'm done."

Quinn's fallen asleep. Her phone balances precariously on her stomach, just inches away from her fingers. Marley tuts. She gently removes Quinn's glasses and sets them on the bedside table. "You're making it very hard for me to resist napping, too," she says, and then yawns.

She lies down as well, careful not to jostle Quinn too much. Marley curls up and quickly dozes off.

* * *

Marley stirs when the very comfortable pillow she's lying on moves. "I thought you were working," comes Quinn's sleepy voice from somewhere above her.

"I'm done." She burrows her face into soft, warm fabric.

"Really?"

"Really."

Quinn grunts. "Liar." But a warm weight settles over Marley's waist, holding her in place.

"Go back to sleep."

* * *

The next time she blinks awake, the sunlight streaming in from outside is barely there. She's warm and comfortable and safe like she hasn't been before, and Marley smiles to herself.

Sometime over the course of their nap, they've shifted so Marley is the big spoon. Her forehead is pressed into the back of Quinn's shoulder, her arm possessively draped around Quinn's waist. She smiles.

They've only been official for an afternoon, but Marley feels like she's getting to know Quinn all over again. She's no more talkative than usual, but there's a softness in the way she looks at Marley that causes her stomach to lurch. Quinn was more physically affectionate as well; she hadn't shied away from casual touches and hugging in the past, but Marley thinks they haven't stopped touching at all for the past few hours.

She loves it.

As much as she doesn't want to move, Quinn has work tomorrow, and she has class. "Hey," she says softly, pushing herself up on an elbow, her hand rubbing Quinn's shoulder. "Wake up."

Quinn makes an aggrieved sound. "Mmph. What time is it?"

"Dunno. Late. Don't have my phone on me."

She rolls back so she's flat on her back, blinking up at Marley. "I fell asleep."

"Yeah." Marley stifles a snigger at the chaotic state of Quinn's hair. "I remember that a nap was on the agenda for today, though, so it's fine."

She smiles, still looking sleep-befuddled. "Are you hungry?"

"Nope. You?"

"Not really. I could go for a drink, though."

Marley laughs indulgently. "Why don't you work on waking up, and I'll make us tea?"

"I am awake. What're you talking about?"

"No, you're not." She kisses Quinn's forehead, and gets up. "I mean it," she calls over her shoulder, "up. We need to get you dinner, and then back to Brooklyn."

Outside, Gavin is shoveling takeout into his mouth. He pauses to leer at her. "Oh. _Gooooood_ morning, sunshine."

"Shut up, Gavin."

"Are you only getting out of bed now? That's some stamina, Rose; didn't know you had it in you. It's always the quiet ones…"

"I don't want to hear it. Seriously." Marley ducks around him to fill the kettle, and sets it. She steals two bags of expensive lavender tea from Gavin's stash just because he's annoying her.

"Is he hot? Or should I say she? I mean, we live in exciting times." Gavin finishes his food and chucks the container in the trash. "Are they a they?"

Quinn picks this moment to glide out of the room, fixing Gavin with her haughtiest stare. "Shut up, Howlett."

He stares, dumb-founded. "Quinn? What are you – oh. Oh!"

"Unless you would like me to eviscerate a body part of your choosing, Gavin, I think you should stop talking," says Quinn.

"Not a word," he promises, grinning at them both. "Can I be there when you tell Stan? Oh, no, please let me be the one to tell Stan."

"No one is telling anyone anything." Marley darts a glance at Quinn. "Quinn and I are… we're figuring things out, since I've been really stupid for a while."

"I agree." He blanches at the look on Quinn's face, and scuttles off to his room.

"You didn't have to do that," says Marley, "it's his house too." She's having difficulty hiding her smile, though, and she's afraid Quinn can see that.

Quinn shrugs. "It was fun." She takes the kettle from the stand, pouring hot water into their mugs. "This smells wonderful. Lavender?"

"Yeah. Courtesy of Gavin."

She smirks. "That's really nice of him." Quinn inhales the fragrance and sighs happily. "Seriously, though; how much of your paper did you do?"

Marley grins sheepishly. "A page? It's fine, I'll just finish it tomorrow and Tuesday. There isn't much left to write, and I've done all the reading I need."

Quinn shakes her head. "You're a brat," she says, "and I think the prospect of kissing has brought out the worst in you."

The casual mention of the shift in their relationship makes Marley blush. She isn't ready for banter – not yet, at any rate – so she just takes a step sideways so she can lean her head on Quinn's shoulder. "The date isn't over yet," she says, "so you better start thinking about what you want for dinner."

"You pick. I chose Mexican for lunch and I'm still regretting it."

Marley sniggers. "How about Defonte's?" Soup and sandwiches sounds ideal, and it's one of her favourites to stop by whenever she's in Brooklyn.

"Sure."

This time, Marley initiates the hand-holding; her fingers curling over Quinn's the moment they step out on the street. The subway trip is spent with small talk about Quinn's job, about what Marley's summer plans are, about anything at all.

Really, there's nothing different about the way they act – except Marley is hyper-conscious of every little mannerism of Quinn's, and how they endear her even more to Marley. The little things that make her wonder how she went so long without acknowledging her feelings, that make her grateful she had the courage to take that plunge.

She feels infinite.

Quinn seems amused. "Is there something on my face?"

"Huh?"

"You've been staring at me for the past ten minutes, lost in your own world. What are you thinking about?"

"I can't believe we're here," answers Marley honestly. "I'm glad I took that chance, and now that this is real, I'm kinda kicking myself for not having done it earlier."

Quinn laughs – though her cheeks are tinted pink. "I – wow. I've known you for years, but – I don't know how to respond to that."

Marley ducks her head. "Sorry. That was a bit much, yeah. You don't have to say anything."

"Marley, no; never apologise for being yourself. That's who you're best at being, and that's who I… fell for." She stumbles over the last muttered words, and Marley almost doesn't catch it if her hearing hadn't been trained by her professors.

Quinn clears her throat. "So, let's go get our food?"

"Yeah, sure. Let's eat here, then I can walk you back to your place."

"What a gentleman," says Quinn, eyes bright with amusement. "Are we within curfew? Will there be chaste hand-holding on the doorstep?"

"If you want."

Quinn's smile becomes a smirk. "What I want and what's gonna happen may be the same thing if you play your cards right."

Rather than reply to that (which is difficult, considering she can't stop about the implications of that remark), Marley pays for their food. "You paid for us earlier," she says in response to Quinn's expression, "and it's my turn."

"Very egalitarian."

* * *

By the time they make their way back to Quinn's place, it's close to midnight, and Marley spots Quinn trying to hide a yawn. "I'm not coming in," she says firmly. "You have work, and I have class."

Quinn contemplates her for a moment, then sighs. "Fine. It _is_ late."

"We have plenty of time, you know."

"Yeah."

She hugs Quinn in lieu of a verbal response, hands loosely linked at the small of Quinn's back. Her chin comes to rest on Quinn's shoulder. It's hard to stop the smile that sneaks across her face, especially when she feels Quinn's arms not-so-subtly pulling her closer.

"This is gonna sound really cliche, but I wish today doesn't have to end," says Quinn into her ear.

Marley turns her head so her cheek is pressed to the side of Quinn's head. "Me neither."

* * *

Rachel calls her in the afternoon, just after she's gotten out of her morning class. She misses the first call because she's busy texting Quinn, and only manages to pick up the second.

"Hello, Marley!" Rachel's enthusiasm practically flows out of the receiver. "How are you?"

"Uhm, good? And you?"

"Perfectly peachy! As you doubtless know, the concert was a runaway success, and you deserve just as much credit."

"Yeah, Rachel. I was there, remember?"

She stumbles a little, and Marley thinks she hears a voice in the background. "Yes, of course. But I don't recall seeing you later, during the afterparty – now that you mention it, Quinn too. When did you guys leave?"

Marley tries not to laugh when she distinctly hears Santana's voice say, _Get to the point Rach_ in the background. "I left after midnight, I think. Quinn and I got taxis."

Santana curses.

"Taxis?" asks Rachel loudly. She clearly sounds disappointed, which is hilarious for someone who acts for a living.

"Yeah, she went back to Brooklyn and me to Midtown. Why?"

Rachel falters, and then says: "No reason. I – it's good to hear you two got home safely. Have you talked to Quinn since then?"

"Yep."

"Oh good. So – " There's a growl, a literal growl on the other end, then Rachel is replaced by Santana. "Stop playing games, Rose," hisses Santana. "Are you and Cueball banging?"

"Santana!"

"No," says Marley. She rolls her eyes; perhaps the reason she and Quinn are so undramatic is because their friends have more than enough drama for them all. "As a matter of fact, we are not. Also, I appreciate the fact that you stopped using Rachel as your front for your concern."

There's a curse, then Santana says: "You got out of classes, didn't you? Meet you at Joe's in an hour. We're buying." The line goes dead, and Marley sighs. Of course she'll go, because the consequences if she ignored a Santana-threat are terrifying.

* * *

 _Help. Ur friends have gotten hold of me._

She sends a quick text off on the way to Joe's, and gets a reply five minutes later: **i was gonna ask, then Unique called**

 _:o Omg what did she say_

 **What i think S and Rach r abt to say to u**

A hand slammed flat on the table startles her, and almost makes her drop the phone. "Marley," says Santana, sickly-sweet.

She swallows hard. "Hi, Santana."

"Cut the bullshit. We know something happened between you and Lucy Q over the weekend; now spill all the details so's I can give you the shovel talk."

Marley swallows again. She's familiar with Santana's brand of the shovel talk, having heard about it from Quinn when she'd been introduced to Blake. "I, uh…"

"Santana, stop terrifying the poor girl." Rachel has three drinks in her hands, which she sets down on the table.

"But babe."

"Let me do it."

There's a pause in which Marley feels like her life starts flashing before her eyes, and Santana looks like she's been given a lifetime's supply of free breadsticks from Breadstix. "I love the way you think, Rach."

Rachel offers her girlfriend a smile, then turns her attention on Marley. "Now, Marley, do share in full detail everything that's transpired since Saturday night, up to this moment, between you and Quinn."

"I, uh, we talked."

Rachel looks unimpressed. "Talked."

"Yes…"

"And what else?"

It's terrifying, how Santana is sitting back, and has let Rachel take over the interrogation completely. The other girl has a wide grin on her face, arms folded across her chest.

"Uh. We… I told her the truth about me and Alex, and then I kissed her."

Rachel squeals, clasping her hands together. Santana's eyes widen. "About time!"

"Uh?"

"That is to say… Santana and myself, we might have an inkling of what was going on before either of you realised." Rachel sits back down. "It was only when I inadvertently revealed too much that we were aware of the… lack of progress that had been made."

"Unique told us," says Santana bluntly.

"Yes. That was what I was going to say, eventually," says Rachel, glaring at Santana.

"Unique's been hung up on the idea ever since high school," says Marley weakly. "And she says you guys were in on it, too."

Rachel looks smug. "It simply makes sense, given that the both of you have been dancing around the idea for far too long. And it turns out she was right, wasn't she?"

"Quiet, Rach. As though you knew all along too."

"And as though I didn't think they'd be good together!" Rachel snipes back. While they bicker, Marley reaches for her phone.

 _what did unique say?_

 **U guys done alrd? Amazing** , comes Quinn's reply.

 _we're not they just got distracted fighting over who shipped us tgt first_

 **Shipped?**

Marley blushes hot. _Srry. Uniques word. Its from fanfic when you hope 2 characs will get tgt_

 **Oic. Anyway srry i cant save u. Have to wait until 6 :(**

She smiles. _Its ok ttyl_ , she sends back, and tucks the phone back into her bag.

Rachel narrows her eyes at the bag. "Was that Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I knew it," she says smugly, "you got this – here," she gestures to her own face, "this goofy grin when you were texting her."

Marley shrugs. She's done fighting, done protesting; and anyway, she's not about to hide how happy talking about Quinn makes her, how _happy_ Quinn makes her. "I guess."

Rachel sighs. "I'm so happy you two finally got your communications straight." She leans her head on Santana's shoulder. "I couldn't ask for a better person for Quinn; she deserves everything."

And it's clear she's talking about her turbulent history with Quinn, because Santana's 'I'm-about-to-lay-down-the-dire-consequences-of-hurting-my-best-friend' face wobbles a little, and she strokes Rachel's arm.

She tilts her face to kiss the underside of Santana's jaw. "I'm okay, baby. Go put the fear of God in Marley."

Marley stops smiling.

Santana grins, and it's all teeth, like a shark. "So. Quinn's mentioned my brand of protectiveness, has she?"

"... I've heard things, yes…?"

"Good, good. Now, I'm not dumb; I know there will be misunderstandings and arguments and times where Quinn will revert back to her shitty repressed self. That's fine. It may not seem like it, but Quinn is my best friend. And I am telling you, if you deliberately hurt my girl, I will hurt _you_. Very badly. Likely physically, because that's how Snix rolls, and I don't let Snix roll unless the situation calls for it."

"And depending on how dire the situation is, I may be tempted to make an exception to my vegetarian diet and bite your head off," adds Rachel primly.

"What my girl said." Santana fixes Marley with a glare. "We clear, Rose?"

Marley finds her mouth's gone dry. "Completely."

Santana's expression softens abruptly. "Good. Now come here and hug Rachel; she's been dying to do that for the past twenty minutes but I don't let her until I'm done with the shovel talk."

Marley laughs, and complies. "Do you want a hug too?"

"I will cut you if you ever mention this to anyone, especially your macking partner – but yes."

* * *

Just when she thinks she gets a reprieve from the excitement, she finds Unique waiting on her doorstep.

"Unique," she says flatly. "What a surprise."

"Oh, come on; did you really think me being here would be a surprise?"

"Yes, actually; I was expecting you to be here this morning when I woke up, or part of the interrogation team I just came from."

She waves a dismissive hand. "Ah, yeah. I did consider sitting in on that via Skype, but this is important." Unique grabs her in a tight hug, vibrating with suppressed squeals. "Oh my god, girl; I'm so happy for you guys!"

And Marley's jadedness dissipates completely, caught up in her best friend's excitement; she laughs as she returns the hug fiercely. "Wait. Don't you have class today?"

"I'm a graduating senior; I'll be outta there in a coupla months, no one's gonna give a shit about me not attending a lecture or two. Besides, you'll be glad to know I'm not just here for you 'cause it'll go to your head…" Unique goes to pull an envelope out of her purse, and hands it to Marley, who takes the letter out.

Marley scans the opening lines and gasps. "You got a callback!"

"Understudy off-off-Broadway, but it's something!"

Marley squeals again, and hugs her friend. "Unique! Oh my god, you didn't tell me! How long were you gonna keep this from me? Wait, how long were you working on this?"

"Well, I didn't want to get your hopes up," answers Unique bashfully. "I got a few contacts from Santana and Rachel and sent in some tapes. I got lucky; there was a friend of a friend of one of the guys who got my tape, and he thinks I would be a good fit to this upcoming musical. So here I am!" She spreads her arms wide. "It was just good timing that the callback coincided with this other cause for celebration involving my very best friend."

Marley shakes her head. "I'm glad you're here," she tells Unique.

"I'm glad I'm here, too," returns her best friend. "Now, I have all night. Tell me _everything_ , and don't you dare leave out a single detail."

She makes a face. "Do I have to?"

" _Marley Rose_!"

"Kidding!" She holds up a hand, laughing. "I was only kidding!"

Unique aims a half-hearted smack at her. "Don't play with my heart that way, oh my god."

* * *

After all the excitement of the past few days, it's practically a relief when she's left to her own devices long enough to let her finish the paper; and with that, Marley is all but a college graduate. Her professors are overjoyed with the work she's done on Santana's album, and she looks to be graduating _magna cum laude_ in a few short months.

It's amazing how so much has changed in a short time. She'll be done with college, she's seeing one of the most incredible people she knows. Things can't get any better.

"You look happy."

Marley grins up at Quinn. "I am happy."

"I'm guessing you finished the paper?"

She kisses Quinn chastely, grinning when the older girl blushes prettily. "With plenty of time left in the deadline."

"That's great." Quinn still looks a little dazed; Marley finds it endlessly amusing that Quinn – cool, collected, elegant Quinn – always seems to be undone by the slightest physical affection. "Is that all your classwork done?"

"I've got a few forms left to fill out, but apart from that, I'm done with school."

"Wow. Time flies; it seems like you were just starting college a couple of months ago." Quinn smiles at her fondly.

"I know, right?" She's still a little nervous about the real world – mostly because of the stories her older friends tell her – but also wildly excited to complete yet another milestone.

"Have you started applying for jobs yet?"

"I've sent out a few applications to record labels; mostly just seeing if I'll get an interview. I mean, even just being considered is a big deal." Besides the other labels under Atlantic's parent company, she's also considered other professions tangentially related to her degree.

Quinn makes a pleased sound. "You're so professional. It's hard to believe you're three years younger." She leans closer.

"Age isn't everything," she replies.

"I know what you mean. Like back then, when we were baking that cake for Beth. I didn't handle that very well." Her tone is light, but Marley detects an undercurrent of tension. She shifts so she can angle herself such that she's facing Quinn.

"Quinn?"

She sighs. "You didn't deserve any of that. I don't think I've ever forgiven myself for how I handled that situation. I know it was a knee jerk reaction, but I'd been a repressed bitch for too long."

"You don't need to apologise. You apologised years ago. I'm sorry I never tried to ask again; about you, your past… it must've seemed like I didn't care." Marley's fingers curl around Quinn's wrist, gently guiding her hand away from her face. "You can tell me anything; you know that, right?"

"I know you'll never judge me, yes." Quinn's smile is small, tentative; Marley's own answering smile brightens in response.

"I'm glad you know that." She lifts Quinn's hand to her lips. "Speaking of which, there's something I wanted to discuss with you."

"Yeah?" asks Quinn, suddenly looking uncertain.

"I haven't told my mom yet. It's not as bad as it sounds," Marley adds on seeing the worry on Quinn's face, "she's pretty open-minded. She'll love you, but I think it'll be a surprise for her."

"You haven't called her?"

Marley shakes her head. "We call and Skype regularly – well, we Skype whenever Mom can figure out the Internet – but I think it's something that should be done in person, y'know. But it's been – what, a month? – and I just feel like I'm keeping it a secret from her. But she'll be coming here next week for my graduation anyway." She looks at Quinn expectantly. "What do you think? Should I just call her?"

"You should call her," answers Quinn after a pause. "If it was me, I know I'd want her to know everything." Her expression turns contemplative. "Not like that's happening with my mom anytime soon."

Marley sighs. "I'm sorry. I hadn't brought it up earlier because I know you and your mom aren't that close, and I didn't want you thinking about that."

"It's fine." Quinn shakes her head. "We've made our peace with it. Like – I'm not about to march down the street wearing a rainbow flag, but I won't hide you from her if she ever asks." She squeezes Marley's fingers; Marley squeezes back.

"Okay. I guess… I'll call her."

"Do you want me here for support?"

"Nah," says Marley. "I'll be fine. Knowing Mom, she'll probably leap at the chance to embarrass me in front of my girlfriend or something like that, like she hasn't already humiliated me in front of you enough."

"Your girlfriend?"

Marley blinks. "Uh, yeah? Isn't that the term for you, the girl whom I'm dating? Unless," she adds, looking stricken, "you're not comfortable with labels or defining whatever we have…"

"No, it's fine." Quinn looks a little pink, but she's smiling. "I was just surprised to hear it, is all."

"Oh. Great! I mean – I'm glad you didn't hate it."

"You worry about the strangest things, Marley."

* * *

"You ready?"

Marley looks herself up and down; she's got her shoes on the right feet. Her hair is in a functional ponytail. Her usual messenger bag has all the sundries she'll need for the day, plus a few emergency supplies. Her phone's charged. She looks back up at Andie.

"Yep," she says with a nod.

"Oh, good. I think Gavin and Stan are ready, too." Andie snatches up the heavy garment bags slung over the back of the sofa, pausing to check her hair one last time in the hall mirror.

The boys emerge from Gavin's room, Stan still fussing over Gavin's hair with a comb. "Doesn't it ever lie flat?" he asks desperately.

"That's what she said, last night."

"Oh, ha ha, like that sex joke hasn't been made a thousand times," replies Stan sardonically. He raps the comb on the top of Gavin's head. "Now _hold still_ or I swear, I'll just cut the damn thing off. Make _that_ into a sex joke, won't you?"

"Boys," says Andie primly, "we need to leave now, or we'll be late. Stan, you can fix his hair later; anyway, it'll all be hidden by the hats." Marley hands them their own garment bags, and shoos them out the door to wait in the landing while she locks the house up.

Even though NYU's commencement ceremonies are spread out over a few weeks because of the sheer number of students, Marley counts herself lucky that she and her roommates ended up scheduled for the same day – albeit at different timings. Gavin will walk in the morning, followed by Andie in the afternoon, and finally she and Stan in the early evening.

The best part about her ceremony timing is that both Quinn and her mom will be able to attend.

She knows her mom already adores Quinn, but that was when she and Quinn were just friends. A part of her can't help but feel jittery about today – the first time Millie will be meeting Quinn as more than just her friend.

They pile their belongings in the cloakroom designated for commencing students, and then head off to Gavin's ceremony.

* * *

"Okay, I'm officially jealous," mutters Stan.

Andie nods. "He's a sex-crazed idiot, and yet…"

"How the hell does someone whose probably banged the entire college end up valedictorian?"

"Hidden depths," says Gavin triumphantly, coming up behind them, "in more ways than one." They groan, but hug him anyway, Stan thumping him on the back. "But mostly because we had a deal, Stan my man."

"What deal?"

Gavin throws an arm over Stan's shoulders. "If I topped my class, he'd tell me his real name."

There's a silence. "Fuck," says Stan slowly, "I agreed to that?"

"I have a shaky phone video that will serve as evidence."

Stan shrugs. "Fair enough." He leans closer and whispers in Gavin's ear, who draws back in alarm.

"You're serious?"

"Sadly."

"Damn. Your parents must have hated you."

"Why only him? Why not the rest of us?" demands Andie. "This is unfair!"

"Sweetie, I worked hard for this privilege. I had to bang both the professor _and_ the teaching assistant for grades, and the worst part was finding out they were already fucking each other and I was being passed between them like some special kind of frat bong."

Marley rolls her eyes. "Come on," she says, taking Andie by the arm, "you're walking next."

* * *

Shortly after Andie comes to greet them, scroll in hand, she gets a call from Unique. "Babe, we're here!" she announces.

"Great! Where are you?"

"Uhhh, main foyer I think. The one with the fancy commencement banners."

"They _all_ have fancy commencement banners, Unique."

"I guess. Oh, wait, this _is_ the main foyer. The guy in the suit said so."

"Okay." It's not far from Andie's building, so she can be there in ten minutes. "I'll see you guys in a while." She ends the call and makes her excuses, stepping out into the fresh air. The campus is the most crowded she's ever seen it, even on the first day of school; people throng the paths around the buildings, the bulky gowns seemingly taking up most of the space. But Marley's on a mission, and she easily makes her way through the crowds and enters the main reception hall for Steinhardt's commencement ceremony.

Unique and Millie are standing to the side; both brighten upon seeing her.

"Mom!"

"Oh, my girl." Laughing, Millie hugs her tight. "Look at you! I've been waitin' for this day, and it's finally here! My baby girl's graduatin' _college_!"

"I'm so glad to see you, Mom."

"Where's Quinn?" Millie actually looks past Marley, scanning the crowded foyer.

"She's at work. She'll be here in time to see me walk, don't worry. It's just a little early 'cause I thought we could have lunch together."

"Oh, good. I'm so happy for you two; honestly, though, I can't believe you landed a catch like that girl." Millie chuckles.

"Mom!"

"Must be the Rose family charm, I'm guessin'. Your dad was a pretty good-lookin' man himself back then, in his prime."

Marley groans. "You're… not surprised? After all the boyfriends over the years, and suddenly a girl?"

Millie's expression turns serious. "Honey, I didn't say this over the phone, but… I really don't care who you date, so long as they make you happy. Love is all that matters, and if she makes you happy, well… _I'm_ happy." She pats Marley's cheek. "My little girl all grown up."

"Even if I came home and told you I'm dating Bigfoot?"

"I'd go out to Costco an' stock up on those lint roller things."

"Mom!"

She cackles. "Jus' kidding. Come on, let's get lunch."

* * *

Marley fidgets with the tassel of her mortarboard as the dean drones on. They're all seated in alphabetical order, so she's stuck between Ned Rothersay and Janice Rogers, while Stan is all the way at the back. It's taking all of her self-control not to turn around to wave to her friends seated behind.

The dean finishes up with his speech. He has his namelist out; Aberforth, Ashley is called out, and it's time.

The applause doesn't flag despite the warm summer air, and the never-ending stream of graduates heading onstage to collect their diplomas. Marley continues to fidget, until…

"Rose, Marley."

The cheers that fill the air are unmistakable. As she climbs the steps, she scans the crowd, looking for familiar faces to match the voices, and spots Quinn. Marley holds her diploma aloft, grinning. She wishes she can rejoin them immediately, but there are still more graduates to announce, and Marley forces herself to return to her seat.

The dean awards a diploma to Zabrowski, Evan, and then rolls up his namelist. "I give you, New York University's Steinhardt Class of 2019." And then they're cheering, and mortarboards go everywhere.

* * *

She manages to free herself from the press of overexcited graduates and head towards the audience seating. Immediately, Marley realized that it's going to be a tough time; she has better luck finding them than they her, since she's wearing the same robes as roughly half the people in the hall –

Then she 'eep's as a force on the back of her robes yoinks her backwards.

"Am I good or am I good?" says Santana smugly. She lets go of Marley's robes, turning her around.

Her mom grabs her in a huge hug. "I'm so proud of you," she mutters through her tears. "Love you, baby girl."

"I love you too, Mom." She feels tears prick at her eyes. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nonsense. You're my smart girl, my college grad." Millie breaks the hug to dab at her eyes with a tissue.

Quinn is standing to Millie's left, holding a bouquet and a stuffed bobcat in a graduation gown. "Wow. You really didn't have to," says Marley.

"But you love them."

"I do," she freely admits, stepping forward to kiss Quinn chastely. "Thank you."

When they part, Millie puts her arms around them both. "I've been wantin' to do this since Marley told me over the phone. Even though you've been family for a while now, consider this your official welcome to the Roses."

Quinn looks like she's about to cry. "Thanks, Millie."

"Ah, now you can call me Mom if you wanted."

"Mom!"

"Jus' like that."

Before she can respond, she's smothered by excited armfuls of Rachel and Unique, both squealing at her. Santana allows it for a few minutes before she (not-so-gently) pries them both off.

* * *

Much like the years before, Marley has her summer all planned out. She'll go back to work for Oscar while putting in more job applications, with a week in between to spend at home in Lima. Realistically, she doesn't expect to be called in for interviews during this period because it's graduate season, and there are thousands of other fresh grads pounding the streets.

But she's good, and all she needs is a chance to prove it.

So are her friends; Santana is still working the circuit, putting her album out to anyone who will take it. Rachel is slowly but surely climbing the ranks of Broadway. Unique moved to the city after graduating, free of her parents for good, and into a tiny apartment with Andrew.

Quinn, of course, is Quinn. She is a force to be reckoned with in her office.

Everything goes according to plan… until it doesn't.

Marley frowns. She has two letters in front on her kitchen table, and she has her arms folded in front of her as she contemplates them.

"What are those?"

Her furrowed expression eases a little when arms wind around her waist, and a gentle weight settles on her shoulder. "Offers," says Marley, angling her face to kiss Quinn's cheek. "They were in the mail when I checked this morning."

"Offers? Really? That's amazing." Quinn lets go to examine them. "... Los Angeles?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't mention you'd applied there."

"Quinn, no." She reaches for the hem of Quinn's top, tugging until she turns Quinn around. "I know what you're thinking. I applied to Atlantic, but they'd already hired someone… my former supervisor thought I'd be a good fit for their LA subsidiary, though, and she forwarded my application to them without telling me." Marley searches for her words. "I'm sorry. I know what it looks like."

Quinn shakes her head. "It's fine. I should trust you… you're not the sort of person that keeps things from me." She smiles. "Location aside, it sounds like a great opportunity."

"I guess."

"You're not considering it?"

Marley sighs. "I _should_. That's why I haven't turned it down immediately. But the other offer…" She glances at the other letter. "It's for a position here, in New York."

"But it's not for your industry."

She shrugs. "At least it's here."

"That can't be all the offers you've gotten."

"It is."

"Marley… You don't have to rush into getting a job, you know?"

"I know, but… it doesn't look good if I'm not working immediately."

Quinn takes the LA letter from the table and holds it out. Marley shakes her head.

"Quinn."

"Marley. You don't even have to think about it; it's in your industry, you'll have so many career opportunities, you'll be working with people who already know what you can do…"

"But it's _LA_. I'll be across the country away from everyone else."

"You're not seriously considering staying here because of me, are you?" asks Quinn disbelievingly. "We… we've just started dating – "

"You're my best friend first." Marley runs a hand through her fringe. "I don't… it's a lot to think about. My mom, my friends… Unique's here now. I mean, I won't lie and say you aren't a factor, because you are. But like I said… it's a lot to think about." She drops her hand, looking at Quinn. "Can you give me some space? Please?"

Eventually, Quinn nods. "We'll talk about it when you're ready," she says.

* * *

She sends out other applications, and she attends interviews. But her accomplishments are just a small drop in the pool of young and hungry jobseekers in New York. By the time her flight home to Lima draws close, those two letters are all Marley has.

When Quinn meets her at the airport, Marley practically sinks into her arms. The past few weeks have been busy for them both – Marley with her job search taking up whatever spare time she has, Quinn with a flurry of work after a few resignations. "I've missed you so much," she says, nuzzling her face into Quinn's neck.

Quinn laughs softly. "Me too." She kisses the side of Marley's head. "You won't believe how long I've been looking forward to this."

They separate, gathering their bags, searching for the check-in counter. "I think I have an idea," says Marley, smiling. "After the month we've both been having, doing nothing in our small town sounds perfect."

"I know." Quinn's hand slips into Marley's free one, and her thumb strokes the side of Marley's hand. "Especially for you."

Marley sighs. "Yeah."

"Still no luck?"

"Not since the last time you asked – which was this morning." Marley smiles at her anyway. "But I do appreciate that you're this concerned about it."

* * *

Since Millie is at her watercolour club outing in Columbus, they have the afternoon to themselves, before Millie comes home for dinner. Quinn's mother rented her a car to use for the week they're home, and so they decide to stop by Quinn's house first to collect it, dropping off her luggage as well, before Quinn drives Marley home.

Marley comes downstairs to find Quinn sitting on the couch. "What do you want to do?" asks Quinn.

Marley flops down with her. "I've got a crazy idea."

"Rachel kind of crazy, Santana crazy, or Gavin crazy?"

She giggles. "I should feel bad we're using our friends as a meter for measuring insanity levels, but… none of the above. My brand of crazy."

"Pretty tame then," teases Quinn.

"Sadly, yeah." She hugs a throw pillow to her chest. "This reminds me of the first time we hung out. Do you remember? Homemade lemonade, _Perks of Being a Wallflower_ …"

"... And the half-drunk grape soda? Of course. How could I forget?" Quinn settles on the couch beside her. "You looked like you were going to pass out from nerves half of the time."

Marley covers her face with the pillow. "I couldn't help it! I didn't know what to make of you – you were _the_ Quinn Fabray, and you were talking to _me_. Coming over to my house to hang out with _me_."

Fingers pry at the pillow, and Marley loosens her grip, letting Quinn put it down. "And now here we are."

"Here we are indeed." Marley can't help the smile that starts when she looks into Quinn's eyes. She's falling for this woman, falling faster than she'd ever thought she was capable of.

Quinn's eyelashes flutter. She leans in to press her lips to Marley's softly.

Marley hums into the kiss. One hand finds its way to the small of Quinn's back, urging her closer. "I feel like we're being naughty," she says.

"In what sense?"

"My mom won't be back for a couple of hours…" she says teasingly.

Quinn groans. "That was terrible," she complains, pushing at Marley's shoulder.

"Maybe, but I enjoyed saying that way more than I should've. Guess I've been reading too many teen romance novels."

Quinn rolls her eyes. Her fingers rest on Marley's shoulders. "What next? Are you gonna tell me that I should sparkle? Or are you secretly the heir of an ancient clan of werewolf nobility?"

Marley answers her with a kiss, and more in quick succession. A soft moan escapes Quinn's lips; her arms snake around Marley's neck to bring them closer. Her fingers thread into Marley's hair, tugging it out of its neat ponytail.

"Here…" Marley's hands on the underside of Quinn's arms guide her so she's straddling Marley's lap. "Comfortable?"

Quinn nods.

Marley tilts her head up to meet Quinn halfway. Her hands are on Quinn's hips, holding her steady. "Mmmmm." Her eyes open briefly – just in time to catch the smirk on Quinn's face, as she starts kissing down her jaw.

She gasps. Quinn seems to take the sound as positive feedback; her tongue swirls over Marley's skin, sending a pleasurable shiver through her body. "More," she whispers, and inhales sharply when she feels teeth nip at her.

Marley grips onto Quinn tightly, certain she'll find finger-shaped bruises there if she looks later – but whatever concern she has for her girlfriend is quickly lost as her world narrows down to the warm weight in her lap, and the wicked mouth making love to her neck. She tilts her head to the side in wordless indication of where she wants Quinn.

Quinn shifts. The arms around Marley's neck maneuver her down on the couch, and she quickly cooperates; Marley keeps her hands on Quinn's hips. "Closer."

Her girlfriend obliges. Marley sighs when Quinn's mouth resumes kissing down her neck.

She's glad Quinn is wearing a shirt; her right hand steals up and under the soft fabric, palm splayed over the bare heated skin of Quinn's back. Marley feels a soft moan pressed into the side of her neck.

Just when she's enjoying how Quinn's breathing changes whenever she moves her fingers, Quinn's hand rests on her collarbone, fingers dangerously close to her left breast. Quinn stops kissing her neck – and Marley has to bite her lip to stop the disappointed sound leaving her. "Is this okay?" Quinn asks.

A part of her wishes Quinn wouldn't stop, but Marley is grateful that she did; they've never gone this far before, and she's a little nervous. "Yes," breathes Marley, smiling up at her. "Thanks for asking, but… it's more than okay."

Quinn smiles. Her hand moves to cover her breast over her T-shirt, and she squeezes.

Marley moans. Her hips jerk up, and into Quinn's body. "Feels good," she says. Her hand moves up to grab the back of Quinn's head, and tug her down for a bruising kiss, fingers gripping her hair. Marley's tongue runs over the seam of Quinn's lips until she parts them and deepens the kiss.

"You've gotten better at kissing," says Quinn once they've parted for air.

"Through a lot of practice." Marley's flippant reply is spoiled somewhat by the needy moan that escapes her when Quinn's hand continues its ministrations over her breast.

Quinn laughs breathily, but she looks a little distracted herself. She takes her hand off Marley's chest, and dips her head, fingers tugging down the collar of Marley's T-shirt. Quinn's tongue laves the newly-exposed skin.

Marley moans. She never wants Quinn to stop doing… whatever she's doing with her lips and tongue, that's sending her body into overload, that has every nerve tingling. But then Quinn's mouth finds the swell of her breast, and Marley's grip on Quinn tightens.

"Marley?"

"Can we… I don't want to go any further," she admits. "I'm sorry."

Quinn smiles. "It's fine." She moves to sit up, but stops when Marley doesn't let go.

"Lie down."

"On you?"

"On me," confirms Marley. "Cuddling is okay. I just don't want you to stop touching me. Uh, that came out wrong."

"If you insist," says Quinn, giggling. She lies down carefully, head tucked under Marley's chin. Marley wraps her arm around Quinn's waist.

"I really didn't want to stop you, but I didn't want anything more to happen on my mom's couch," says Marley sheepishly. "It just seems like a cliche teenager thing, y'know?"

"You don't need to explain anything. I get it. I want us both to be comfortable with every step of the way."

"Thank you." Marley reaches for Quinn's hand, bringing their joined hands to rest on her chest. Quinn tilts her face up to kiss the underside of Marley's jaw, then settles back comfortably.

"... You know what would have been a cliche teenager thing? If we had ended up like this years ago."

Marley snorts. "Too true. Luckily, we went through the nature adult route of getting to know each other first, and then being in complete obliviousness."

"Mature indeed."

"I mean – we got here eventually, but sometimes, teenagers and their hormones have the best ideas."

"You talk as though you're an old woman."

"My mom calls me an old soul." The hand on Quinn's hip toys with the denim of Quinn's jeans. "Speaking of my mom, are you staying for dinner tonight?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Quinn bite her lower lip. "I'd love nothing more, but… it's been a while since I spent some time with my mom, and I probably should have dinner with her tonight at the very least. Plus, I wouldn't want to impose on _your_ time with your mom."

"I understand. It's not a big deal," says Marley. She lifts her free hand to stroke Quinn's hair. "Also, Mom adores you. Believe me when I say that she'll love the chance to embarrass me further in front of you."

Quinn chuckles. "Then all the more I should spare you for at least one night."

She smiles. "This is gonna sound incredibly clingy, but… I'm gonna miss you. We barely got to spend any time together over the past month or so, and it's only for tonight but I feel like I only just got you here," says Marley, her fingers twisting strands of blonde hair together.

"I feel the same way." Quinn sighs and leans into the touch when Marley starts combing her fingers through her hair. "But we'll survive."

"Guess so."

"What time is it?"

"Uhh…" Marley cranes her neck to glance at the wall clock. "Quarter to six."

"I should get going, then. I need to unpack and settle in anyway."

Marley lets go reluctantly, getting off the couch to arrange the pillows back to their original condition. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Quinn laughs. "I can't wait," she says, stepping forward and lifting her chin so her lips brush Marley's.

* * *

Her mom being who she is, she has everything all planned out. Pot roast is taken out of the slow cooker the minute Millie arrives home, and Marley sits down to a hearty home-cooked dinner. Millie fills her in on everything that's been happening while she was gone; although Millie went up to New York for Marley's graduation, they didn't have much time for just the two of them.

They round the evening out with TV and homemade butter cookies. Marley goes up to her room to text Quinn.

She can't believe this is her life now. The last time she was lounging here aimlessly, she was a high school graduate with an acceptance letter to NYU, and vague dreams of the future. Now, Marley has her college degree and precisely two options on the table with regards to the future.

And Quinn… as much as Marley would love to give in to her natural idealism and say Quinn _is_ her future, she knows that they still have a long way to go as a couple. They've been friends for about four years now, but Quinn as a friend is vastly different from Quinn as her girlfriend.

Marley sits up. She searches for her laptop; while she's still in this mood, she should send out a few more emails to prospective employers…

Her phone rings. Marley's brow furrows, even more so when she sees that it's Quinn calling. "Hello?"

"Hey. Sorry. Am I disturbing you?" Her voice is quiet, subdued.

"No, I was just about to get my laptop. Is something wrong?"

"I – no. I don't…"

She knows that tone of voice. "Quinn. Where are you?"

There's silence, and the soft sound of breathing. Wherever Quinn is, it's quiet enough that Marley also hears the sound of a hitched sob – and her heart breaks. "Quinn?"

"... I'm parked out at our place."

She's already up and moving, grabbing her hoodie off the back of her chair. "I'll be there in five."

* * *

She passed the last streetlight about half a mile ago, and has to drive slowly so she doesn't crash. It's a moonless night, dark except for the occasional car (she stopped seeing other people a mile back) and the stars above. The main town glows in Marley's rearview mirror.

Her high beam reflects off metal. Marley quickly pulls over and hops out of the car.

"Quinn?"

The back door opens. Marley wastes no time in clambering in, reaching out to flick on the interior lights. "What happened? Are you okay?" She cups Quinn's face in both hands.

She shakes her head slightly. "I'm fine," says Quinn dully, pulling away.

"I was worried." Marley closes the car door behind her, leaning back against it. "Tell me what happened?"

"I just…" Quinn stares past the windshield, at the pitch-black outside. "I told my mom about us. Things didn't go so well after that."

"Oh, Quinn."

"I see you and your mom, and I forget," she continues, still in that same flat and dead tone. "What I have with my mom isn't the same, and I was a fool to think that we'd patched things up enough that she would accept this part of me… to accept you." Quinn turns back, emotion finally showing through the cracks in her mask. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Marley grabs her hand without thinking. "I wasn't expecting you to tell your mom about us, honestly. You never mentioned you were going to tell her tonight."

"I wasn't intending to. She asked me if I was seeing someone new, because I seemed happy, and I said yes. Then she asked if I was going to bring him to meet her, and I…" Quinn trails off.

Marley makes shushing sounds. Her thumb strokes Quinn's cheek.

"She… wasn't happy. She asked me if it was Rachel, and if it was, it would have been because she and her dads corrupted me with their _lifestyle_." Her voice cracks a little. "And she asked if that was the reason Blake left me."

She's suspected Judy Fabray was capable of great cruelty – based on Quinn's own personality, and the women she met at the garden party – but hearing this makes Marley tremble with anger. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Quinn laughs shortly. "She doesn't, but she knows _exactly_ what to say to get to me."

"What else did she say?"

"Nothing more you need to hear," says Quinn. "I stormed out after that, and came here."

"How long have you been here?" It's close to midnight the last time she checked her phone.

"I'm not sure. I was upset, and needed to be alone for a while; that's why I didn't call you earlier…" Quinn trails off when Marley scoots closer, gathering her into a hug. She rests her head against the other girl's shoulder, but doesn't move otherwise.

"It's alright. I'm glad you called me." The stiffness doesn't leave Quinn's shoulders; a telltale sign that she hasn't divulged the whole story. But Marley pays it no heed, rubbing Quinn's back as though she can rub away all the things burdening her. "I'm glad you're letting me be here."

"Sometimes I don't even know _why_ you're here," admits Quinn quietly.

"... What do you mean?"

There's a weighty pause. She can guess that Quinn is debating reverting to form and simply bottling up whatever's on her mind, or… "Quinn, I want to help. Please let me in."

"You don't know me. I'm not… I'm difficult." Quinn breaks out of Marley's embrace, arms around herself in a defensive gesture.

"Is that what your mom said?"

Quinn goes rigid.

"What exactly did she say to you?" asks Marley, fighting to keep herself calm. She can see Quinn's terrified, triggered by years of emotional abuse, and she wants to hurt the people responsible for it.

"She didn't…"

" _What_ did she say?"

Quinn stumbles over her words. "She said… I was always like that. That I couldn't… I'm not capable of having normal relationships, that no one normal would want _me_." Her voice cracks completely on the last few words.

"Quinn…" She desperately wants to cry; for how distraught Quinn sounds, her own frustration that someone could be as cold to say those things to their own daughter. But she holds herself together with an effort. Quinn needs her now. "She's wrong. She's so completely wrong."

Quinn turns her face away from her. "You didn't go through four years of high school with me. I pushed everyone away. I was the top of the hierarchy, and I was a complete bitch to everyone. You've heard about some of the things I did, right? Rachel and Santana told you?"

Marley shakes her head again. "They have." She has the Cliff's Notes of Quinn's life before she knew her, from Quinn's friends and Quinn herself. "So?"

"So, you know. I'm not someone people want to be with."

She has to think over what she says next. Marley's dealt with more than her fair share of insecurities and self-doubt, but this isn't about her now. "Hey," she starts. Her hand cups Quinn's cheek. "Look at me, okay?"

Quinn's eyes stay downcast.

"I do care about what you did in the past; I'd be lying if I said otherwise. But that's who you _were_ ," stresses Marley, "and what I care about more is what you did to fix those things." Her thumb brushes away a tear. "I love you – all of you, everything that makes you _you_."

"You love me?" It comes out strained; half-laugh, half-sob.

Marley pauses, then lets a slow happy smile spread across her face as it sinks in. "I do. That was not how I envisioned I'd say it for the first time, but okay."

Quinn looks away, but her expression is less troubled than what it was fifteen minutes earlier.

"You don't have to say it back," ventures Marley hesitantly.

"I know. I was thinking about other things."

"Your mom?"

She gets silence as her only answer.

"I hope you know none of it is true. I don't give a _damn_ what your mom says."

Quinn turns back to her, surprised. "DId you just swear?"

"I did. Your mom, she – she clearly has no idea what sort of strong, amazing, _brave_ person you are. That how you're so much more than the pretty cookie-cutter Prom Queen girl stereotype. She has no right to say such cruel things to you just because you have the courage to be yourself and follow your heart." Her voice shakes with the strength of all the hatred she's feeling. "And if she can't see any of that, or bring herself to learn… that's her loss."

"Okay," says Quinn. Her hands brush Marley's thighs. "You're okay."

"I'm not okay." Marley wipes away angry tears with the heel of her hand. "I can't imagine how bad it must have been for you growing up. I hate that it happened to you."

"At least I'm out of there now. My dad's gone. Lima's not really home anymore." Marley feels a pressure on her chin, urging her to look up. "My home's in New York, with my friends and my roommates. With you."

Her heart swells. "I'm glad."

"But you're wrong about one thing."

"What thing?"

Quinn smiles; shy and tentative, but there. "That I don't have to say it back. Because I do. Love you, that is."

She is speechless.

"Nearly dying in a car accident gave me a different perspective on life," she continues, "like there's no such thing as a right or wrong time for something. I've known how I've felt about you for a long time, Marley, even when I thought I was the only one." Quinn brushes her fingers over Marley's cheek.

Marley thinks Quinn might be smiling, but she's not sure, with her vision blurred with tears. "These are happy tears, I swear," she says.

"That's good to hear." A gentle hand cups her cheek. "I don't think there should be both of us crying tonight."

"You know… on the subject of timing, I meant it."

"Meant what?"

"What I said earlier, all of it. Everything," murmurs Marley. "You're everything."

Quinn blushes but says nothing else. "It's late," she says, catching sight of the time on the radio console, "you should go home. Your mom will be worried about you."

"Stay with me tonight?" Marley rests her fingers on Quinn's wrist.

"I…" Quinn looks down, and back up again. "Okay."

Marley opens the car door. "I don't think you should drive," she says, making her way over to her own car, Quinn's hand firmly clasped in hers. "We'll come back to pick up your car first thing tomorrow."

Quinn nods. She eases out of Marley's grip and sits in the passenger seat of Marley's car. When Marley holds out her hand, she stares in confusion.

"Your keys."

"Oh. Right."

Marley pockets them, starting the engine. Gravel crunches noisily as she pulls back onto the road, starting the drive home. Quinn is silent and unmoving the entire ride back.

The house is dark when Marley parks the car in the driveway. "Do you want some water?"

Quinn shakes her head.

Marley leads the way upstairs. She takes out a towel and a change of clothes, leaving them on the bed. "If you wanna wash up."

"I… okay." She takes the things and disappears into the bathroom.

While she's inside, Marley strips off her hoodie, dropping it back onto her chair, and flops on the bed. She's already tired from the flight this morning, and now… Her anger has mostly drained from her, leaving Marley tired and in need of some quiet time.

She is instantly alert when the bathroom door clicks open. Quinn stands in the doorway, looking uncertain; Marley sits up, offering her hand and a soft smile.

After a pause, Quinn takes it.

Marley pulls back the covers, motioning for Quinn to get in, and climbs in after, hand curling around her waist. "I love you," Marley murmurs into Quinn's shoulder.

* * *

Marley wakes to find herself alone in her bed. She sits up, rubbing at her eyes, trying not to feel too disappointed.

When she goes downstairs, a sob catches her attention immediately. Just when she's about to enter the kitchen, Marley spots her mom.

Millie has her back to her, and and both arms around Quinn; the latter has her face buried in Millie's shoulder. Both don't notice her presence.

Quietly, Marley goes back upstairs.

* * *

Like a princess from a storybook, she's awakened with a kiss. "Hey," says Quinn, smile dim, but there.

"Quinn." Marley pushes herself up on an elbow, the fingers of her other hand brushing Quinn's cheek. "Are you better?"

"A bit."

She doesn't mention being downstairs with Millie, so neither does Marley. Quinn sits down and lets Marley take her hands into her lap. Her eyes search Quinn's face for some hint on how they should approach this –

"Not right now," says Quinn quietly. "Please."

Marley blinks in surprise, then nods. "...okay. Are you hungry?"

"Not really, but I can eat."

"How about breakfast, then some more sleep?" ventures Marley. "I think we both could use that."

Quinn nods. She seems to have retreated back into herself overnight, a shadow of the person Marley's grown to know.

She can't do this alone; she needs help.

* * *

As soon as breakfast is over, Millie declares herself out of bread, and that means Marley has to go to the store to get some. She's loath to leave Quinn, but Quinn isn't up to leaving the house, and Millie shoots her a meaningful look as she puts an arm around Quinn's shoulders and starts talking about needing an extra pair of hands to help her with the day's baking.

While in the car, she calls Rachel and fills her in on the situation.

"Judy did _what_?! I can't believe the _nerve_ of that woman!" whisper-screeches Rachel into the phone.

Marley shrugs helplessly, then remembers Rachel can't see her. "Yeah," she says, loath to delve back into something that has hurt Quinn so much.

"How is she?"

From the suddenly-gentle tone of voice, Marley can tell it's not Judy Fabray Rachel is asking after. "Sad."

"Oh." Rachel sounds distraught. "I wish we could be there. Give her a hug from us?"

"We know. I will. Look, Rachel… I'm not just calling to tell you what happened."

"You need advice on what to say?"

"Not just that. I – we said a lot. It's helped, but I can still see how sad she is, how she doesn't really believe me."

Rachel blows out a frustrated breath. "Trust me, I know _exactly_ what you mean. Quinn, she… you now know first-hand what her upbringing was like. You can see how hard it is for her to believe someone telling her the exact opposite of what those – _people_ – have been telling her since she was little." There's a pause. "Marley, I don't have an instant cure for you. It took me two years to even convince her we could be friends. I'm sorry I can't be of much help."

"No, you've helped plenty. Thanks, Rachel. I'm glad she had someone like you back then."

"Oh, that's not the case at all if you ask her," says Rachel wryly. "But… yes. I have to go now – call me later? Keep me updated."

"Of course. Thanks, Rach. Talk to you later."

By this time, she's sitting in the parking lot. Marley ends the call and turns off the engine, walking into the store and through the aisles distractedly, Quinn still on her mind.

"Marley?"

Marley lifts her head, looking around – and sees a familiar face. "... Brittany?"

It's been two years or so since she last saw Brittany, but in that short time she seems to have blossomed. Brittany hasn't lost any of her enthusiasm as she rushes over to enfold Marley in a bear hug.

Over Brittany's shoulder, she sees another familiar face. "Finn!"

He grins at her, coming up to join the hug. "I really shouldn't be surprised to see you here."

"I'm visiting my mom for the last summer holidays before I get a job," says Marley.

"Graduated college?"

"Yeah, New York U, in music production."

"Aww, that's so cool." He had a hand on the small of Brittany's back, but moves forward to hug Marley in that same manner as Brittany did; she giggles as she's lifted off her feet for the second time in ten minutes. "I'm proud of you."

Beside them, Brittany's smile dims a little. "I… is Santana with you?"

The name casts a call over the three of them. She sees Finn and Brittany exchange a look, and then he takes her hand.

"No, she's still in New York."

"With Rachel," says Finn quietly.

"...Yeah."

"It's cool," he says, forcing a smile. "Me and Rachel are good. It's really great to hear she's doing well in New York."

"She is," says Marley. "She's an understudy in an off-Broadway production, and in workshop for another role."

"San's album is really good."

Both Finn and Marley glance at Brittany. "How did you know…?" asks Marley.

"Tina told me, and she helped me buy a copy." Brittany's mouth twists sideways as she chews on her lower lip. "We weren't sure if we should attend the launch party or not."

"Yeah," says Marley. "I'm sorry."

"Is anyone else in town?" asks Finn in a poorly-disguised attempt to change the subject. Instead of rounding on him the way Santana, Quinn, or even Rachel might have done, Brittany simply rubs his arm. "Y'know, from Glee."

 _Perhaps it's how they work_ , thinks Marley.

"Quinn's in town, too," she says, unsure of how to tell them she and Quinn are dating.

"Really? That's awesome – I haven't talked to her in ages, have you? How'd you know she's in town, though? You guys only met a handful of times as far as I know…" He trails off when Brittany squeezes his arm.

"Sweetie," she interrupts, "I think you should let Marley say what she wants to say first. It's not very nice to talk when people are trying to get their words in order. Too many words gets your head muddled up."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. But I… Quinn and I…" She catches Brittany's eye; the taller woman nods, smiling reassuringly. "We're dating."

Finn stares. "You – whuh – but you're both girls."

"Yeah?" Marley watches him carefully, the memory of Santana's outing in high school at the back of her mind.

Finn seems to read her mind. "Not that I think it's wrong!" He rushes out. "Honestly, if you're both happy, I'm happy for you guys." Finn chuckles ruefully. "Wow. You know, she didn't seem very happy with me when we were dating, and this kinda explains why, actually."

Brittany smiles up at him. "Finny, do you mind getting the rest of the stuff? I need to have some girl talk with Marley."

He doesn't seem bothered at all by the (very obvious) dismissal. "Sure, Britt." Finn turns to Marley. "We've all gotta catch up before we leave town. Gimme a call, my number hasn't changed."

"Will do, Finn."

Once he disappears into the next aisle, Brittany grabs her hand and leads her in the opposite direction. "Your mouth did a great job of putting words out, but your body says there's more that you didn't want to say in front of Finn."

"I, uh…"

Brittany waves her hesitation away. "Something happened to Quinn, didn't it? Your eyes were all happy, then sad and angry when Finn mentioned her."

Marley knows better than to ask Brittany where she gets her uncanny people-reading abilities from. "She told her mom about me. It didn't… go too well." They're standing outside the store, and Brittany motions for them to sit on the bench outside.

Brittany's face falls. "Oh no."

"Yeah."

"She's at your house?"

"Yeah, she wasn't up to coming out with me today." Marley puffs out a breath. "She's really hurting, and I don't know how to help."

Brittany pats her knee. "You're doing plenty by being you, Marley. You're like a Rachel, minus the shortness, annoying persistentness, and the Broadway ambitions." She pauses. "And adding the whole being in love back part."

"I know," she says. "But there must be something more I can do."

"You know Quinn used to be Lucy, right?"

"Yeah?" Marley blinks, but otherwise isn't surprised by the abrupt change of conversation topic; this _is_ Brittany, after all.

"She's had years and years of being talked down and around by her parents. It's gonna take years and years of you and us doing the right kind of talking before Quinn lets herself believe us." Brittany shrugs. "At least there's only her mom in her life now. Half the talking is a lot easier."

"Her mom." Marley straightens up in her seat. "That's it. Thanks, Britt."

Brittany's brows draw together. "Marley, you can't go. I know what you're trying to do – I had plenty of experience reading San – and you're not gonna accomplish what you want. Quinn's mom is like, half a century old, and that's twice the amount of talking down to undo." She sketches figures in the air. "The math works out."

"I don't… she doesn't need to change." Marley runs a hand through her fringe. "She just needs to know how much Quinn is hurting, because of her."

"... I'll help." Brittany stands up. "I don't think I'll go with you because both Quinn and her mom have this habit of never saying what they mean, but what they think others want them to mean, and it makes my brain hurt."

"Thanks, Britt, but I was gonna ask you to stay with Quinn." She pats Brittany's elbow. "My mom has to go out, and I don't want her to be alone while I go to see Mrs Fabray."

"I can do that!" The taller girl beams at her. "I'm sure Quinn will wanna hear about the latest stuff Lord Tubbington's been up to in Los Angeles. Long story short, he found out the _real_ reason it's called that."

"Uh… I'm sure she'd like to hear that."

"Great! I'll go check on Finn, then I'll get him to drop me off. I don't think it's a great idea to have him come with me, 'cause he's not really good at speaking body, especially not the kind Quinn speaks all the time, not to mention how much she can say at one time." She scrunches up her nose.

"Okay, Britt."

Brittany gives her a quick hug. "Be careful, Marley. Quinn's mom is really, really good at saying mean things."

"I'll be careful."

* * *

Marley puts on The Supremes' music for the short drive to the Fabray house. It bolsters her nerve somewhat, but even then she has to spend ten minutes parked out front, just breathing.

Finally, she gets out of the car. The walk up to the front door seems to take an eternity, as does the wait after she rings the doorbell.

Judy Fabray opens the door after a long while. Her usually-immaculate hair is slightly disheveled, and her expertly-applied makeup can't hide bloodshot eyes. "... Yes? Can I help you?"

"Actually, yes… may I come in?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well…"

"It's very important," says Marley urgently.

"Good day." She starts to close the door.

"It's about Quinn."

The door stops before it can close in her face, then swings open to admit her. "Quinnie? How is she? Where is she now?"

"She's safe, but upset. That's… actually what I came to talk to you about, Mrs Fabray."

"I know you," says Judy, "you're the caterer's daughter. Quinnie's friend… Mandy Rose. Please, call me Judy, dear."

"Marley Rose," she corrects her.

"Yes, Marley. My apologies." Judy leads her into the immaculate living room and gestures for her to sit. The faint scent of alcohol lingers in the air. "Forgive me, but… how do you know how she is? Is she staying with you?"

"She is."

Her eyes darken. "It's you, isn't it? The girl who's corrupted my Quinnie," says Judy sharply.

"Judy…"

"That's Mrs Fabray to you." Her eyes are narrowed with anger. "I should have known from the very start that the people Quinn chooses to associate with are less than acceptable. First those two deviant cheerleader girls, then the daughter of the homosexuals… I would never have expected this of you, my dear, but I suppose I still have room to be disappointed."

Marley can't speak. Her blood boils in her veins.

Judy stands up. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave," she says icily. "I greatly appreciate your coming here to inform me of my daughter's whereabouts, but…"

"Wait!"

"Wait? You're outstaying your welcome, Miss Rose, and I must say that it is very gauche of you. You have no right to come into my home, and say such things to me."

"You can't… you know what? I'm tired of this." She stands, hands balled into tight fists. "I told myself I wouldn't lose my temper with you, for Quinn's sake, but I… Mrs Fabray, the ten minutes I've been here have been absolutely infuriating."

"How _dare_ you – "

"No!" yells Marley. "How dare _you_! How _dare_ you say such hateful things to your own daughter! Do you know she cried herself to sleep last night over the things you said?"

At this, Judy looks somewhat guilty, but it passes.

"She is – Quinn is the bravest, kindest, most wonderful woman I've ever met. I'm lucky to have her in my life, luckier still that she feels the same way about me. I can't believe that you would dismiss your own daughter just because she's in a relationship with another woman."

"It's not right!"

"You know what's not right? How you don't even see how much she's trying. You let her dad kick her out of the house. She had a baby, alone. She almost _died_." Marley's voice wobbles. "You've treated her like dirt, and she still loves you. She cares about what you think about her."

Judy's composure crumbles a little. "No, she doesn't."

"Quinn has an older sister… Frannie, is it? When was the last time Frannie visited?"

"I… she's very busy, she has her husband to care for."

"And Quinn's come home for the holidays. She calls regularly. She tries so hard to maintain a relationship with you no matter how far away she is because you're her _mom_. You're all the family she has left, Mrs Fabray, and this is how you treat her?" Hot tears run down her cheeks; she wipes them away angrily. "I come from a single-parent family, too. My mom is everything to me. She and I might not always get along, but she's always supported me and loved me unconditionally. She cares about what makes me happy."

Judy looks like she's been slapped. "I… I've only ever wanted Quinn to be happy."

"You sure don't act like it. She's spent her whole life seeking your approval because even though she looks like she's confident, when it comes to you, she's still the Lucy who's _terrified_ of disappointing you." She takes a deep breath, and exhales. "I… Mrs Fabray, I didn't come here to yell at you. I'm sorry. I have to go now."

She doesn't move from where she's standing. Marley turns on her heel and lets herself out.

* * *

Marley has to wait a good long while before she's calm enough to go home. Quinn and Brittany are still upstairs, talking in low voices; they break off when Marley appears.

"Hi," says Quinn softly.

Brittany stares at Marley, her look appraising. "Welcome back," she says, climbing off the bed and giving her a hug. "Were the Nargles difficult to shake off?"

"... Is that a Harry Potter reference?"

"Yeah. Luna and I have a lot in common, being that we're blonde and that people don't really get what we're trying to tell them, so I figure that she knows what she's talking about." Brittany glances around. "But we don't have magic and stuff, so I guess it must've taken you a while to get rid of them through non-magical means. I recommend driving in circles. It confuses them."

Marley nods. "... Right." She crosses the room to sit on the bed beside Quinn. "Hey," she says.

Quinn smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Nargles aside, where did you really go?"

"More stuff for my mom. She needed me to go fetch something for her."

"Oh. Okay." She looks like she's about to say more – Marley's not a good liar, and one of Quinn's talents is telling whether someone's lying – but then the doorbell goes, and Marley turns.

Brittany smiles at her. "I have a really, really good feeling about this," she says, and tugs at Quinn's hand.

"Britt, what…?" They traipse down the stairs, parting ways at the bottom; Marley to answer the door, Brittany and Quinn to the living room.

Marley's expression hardens when she sees the person on the other side. "Mrs Fabray."

The older woman doesn't meet her eyes. "Hello, Marley. Is… is Quinn here? May I speak with her?"

"She is, but I don't know if she wants to speak to you."

"Mom?"

"Quinnie – I mean, Quinn," says Judy. "I… can we talk?"

Quinn's gone pale. She stands, rooted to the spot. Brittany grabs her shoulder and whispers urgently into her ear, the smile gone from her face. Eventually, Quinn nods tightly. "... You've got two minutes," she says, walking forward.

"'Scuse me," says Brittany brightly. She walks out the front door, collecting Marley as she goes, shutting it behind them.

"Britt?"

"We're giving them some privacy," she explains. "They need closed doors to say what they really mean. Plus, it's not their house, so they're not gonna stay long. I can sense the waves coming off Quinn and her mom from a mile away."

"Waves?"

"You know how in a cartoon, things give off waves when they've been left out too long?" Brittany explains patiently for Marley's benefit. "It's like that with them, except they don't actually smell. It's just that their feelings have been left inside for years and years. That's not healthy. Feelings have a pretty short shelf life, y'know."

Marley nods distractedly. "I just hope you're right, Britt, and everything turns out fine." She sinks onto the porch seat, Brittany joining her, and waits.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _One Bedroom_ by Yellowcard. I kinda had the month from hell so the editing session for this went from 'I'm gonna clean this up' to 'you know what it's fine as it is as long as I English'. As always, extended notes to be posted to this story's page on my Tumblr. Hit me up at **yumi-michiyo**


	8. Part Seven

**Part Seven:** _The time is going by slowly but you're walking away fast_

* * *

Marley is tense. Her foot bounces up and down, arms crossed over her chest – because she'll drive herself insane with fidgeting otherwise – and her eyes constantly dart towards the closed front door.

Meanwhile, Brittany is the picture of calm. She sits on the porch seat, humming to herself.

"Marley?"

"What?"

"There's no need to worry." Brittany tucks a leg under herself. "Everything's gonna work out just fine."

"How do you – " starts Marley, and then cuts herself off. She knows better than to ask; partly because Brittany's always right when it comes to this sort of thing, mostly because Marley's certain she won't understand the logic behind the explanation anyway. "Nah. I trust you."

Brittany beams. "Thanks for trusting me. A lot of people don't really do that."

And finally Marley manages a smile. "I'm not a lot of people, Britt." She moves to sit next to her, scooting to rest her head on Brittany's shoulder. "But… thanks. For everything."

"You're welcome." She starts humming; Marley closes her eyes and lets the vibrations soothe her.

"You know… you haven't said anything about me and Quinn yet," says Marley after a pause. She feels Brittany shrug.

"Should I be saying anything? Like, it's a good thing you guys have each other. You need someone who can keep up with you, and Quinn needs someone who can be ultra-patient with her when she's being dumb. It fits just right."

"... Really?"

"Really," says Brittany. "There were so many ways things could've gone, and this is one of the better arrangements."

"Oh. Okay…?"

"... I can tell you wanna ask about Finn and Rachel, and me and San."

Marley starts. "I…"

"I know you're not actually going to but I just wanted to say that I don't mind you asking, 'cause it's not fair that you didn't get born earlier and go through all the background stuff; but now's not really the time for it." She nods towards the closed front door. "Today's all about Quinn."

"Yeah."

The door swings open, making Marley sit bolt-upright. Judy Fabray, eyes red, hurries out with a brief nod in the girls' direction before getting into her car. Marley and Brittany wait until the grey vehicle takes off down the street before going back into the house.

Quinn sits on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, forehead pressed to her knees. Just as Marley is searching for the right words to say, Brittany squeezes her shoulder, and slips back out the front door.

She takes one step forward, then another. She reaches the couch all too soon. Still keyed up from her own confrontation with Judy Fabray, Marley nevertheless puts aside her own feelings, and sits on the couch.

"You went to her earlier." Quinn's voice is tear-free, steady.

"Yeah."

"What did you talk about?"

Marley's fingers settle on Quinn's elbow, and curl around her arm. "The way she's treated you. Among other things."

Quinn relaxes fractionally under Marley's touch. "Like my sister?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't. Don't be sorry." Quinn lifts her head; her eyes are bright and red-rimmed. "You just said things we were too cowardly to say aloud for years."

"I felt bad not telling you the truth, earlier."

"I wouldn't call that lying. A white lie, perhaps." The corner of Quinn's mouth curves up. "I don't think you've ever lied to me before."

Though Quinn's tone is light, Marley can feel her face heat. "I don't plan on doing it again, ever."

Quinn doesn't say anything further. While she doesn't initiate further contact, she isn't pulling away from Marley's touch like she did last night; Marley's glad for that. It had killed her, seeing a hurt Quinn shy away.

"I was hoping I could stay here with you and your mom for the rest of the week," says Quinn quietly.

"Yes – of course. I was gonna offer, and you know my mom would have a fit if you didn't stay. Or ask."

Quinn smiles absently. "Thanks."

Marley decides now isn't a time to wait for Quinn to open up – she's a firm believer in the power of a good night's sleep, and comfort food. "I'll make up the guest room for you," she starts to say, getting up, and pauses when Quinn catches her wrist.

Her girlfriend's hazel eyes lock with hers for a long moment. Marley tries to convey as much support and love as she possibly can with only her eyes.

Quinn leans in and kisses her cheek. Lips linger on her cheek for longer than a kiss would normally take, hot breath tickling the fine hairs of Marley's skin.

She can't control the floaty feeling inside of her, chasing away the heaviness that's dogged her the entire morning, and Marley smiles until her face feels like it's about to fall off. She's quick to return the physical affection once she stands. Marley stoops to kiss Quinn on the forehead, fingers brushing over the hair framing her face. "I'll be right back."

Her phone – forgotten on her bed after Judy's visit – is ringing aggressively when she passes her room. Marley starts, then dashes for it. "Hello?"

"What's going on?" demands Santana. "Why didn't you call me the _instant_ that bitch opened her mouth?"

"Because you'd overreact and unleash Snix on the next flight back to Lima?"

Santana grunts. "Fine, okay, I'll give you that. And now? Im assuming that since you're final- _fucking_ -ly answering the phone, that things are under control."

"Sort of. Quinn's downstairs; Mrs Fabray came over to talk to her, she just left."

"How is she? Comatose? Angry? Kicking chairs?"

"Uh… pretty calm, actually," says Marley. She walks to the linen cupboard, phone tucked in the crook of her shoulder. "I left her downstairs to make up the guest room for her."

"Hmm."

"Uh, yeah. Should I… should I not be upstairs?"

Santana cackles. "Nah, I can't answer that for you. You know her best, dontcha? Just do what you need to do and get back to Tubbers ASAP. Oh, and do me a favour? Tell her to call me back. Pronto. Later, Rosie."

"Okay." She pauses halfway through slipping pillowcases on to make another call. Rachel picks up after barely two rings.

"Marley! Hi! I don't mean to be rude, but it's about time you called; I've been going crazy thinking of all the worst things that could happen," she says, sounding anxious. "How's Quinn? Is she alright? What's been happening?"

"Quinn's okay." Marley gives her the bare bones of what's been happening since her last call; Rachel falls silent at the mention of Brittany and Finn.

"Oh," she says, "I didn't know they were in Lima."

"I'm sorry – "

"It's fine," Rachel interrupts. "I can't think of anyone better for her than Brittany. I'm glad you're both there for her right now." She doesn't mention Finn, and Marley doesn't ask. "So, did Quinn tell you what she and Judy talked about?"

"No, not yet. She looks tired; I think it's best if we took some time out. Process everything that happened."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea. It sounds like you could use a break, too. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Sure. Bye, Rachel."

Her phone goes into her back pocket, and she leaves the neat bed behind. Downstairs, Quinn has her own phone out, a small frown on her face. "Were you talking to S or Rachel or both?" asks Quinn, putting the phone down.

Marley grins sheepishly. "You too?"

Quinn snorts. "Rachel wouldn't know what restraint is if it beat her out for a starring role."

Marley's demeanour relaxes considerably at the joke. She sits down, slipping an arm through Quinn's. "She's been a bad influence on Santana."

"It goes both ways."

Marley's phone beeps. She glances at the screen. "Are you tired? My mom says she's on her way home, and she wants to take us out to dinner." Without waiting for an answer, Marley plows ahead, adding: "We don't have to if you're tired, I can always tell her to buy takeout."

"No, actually…"

Marley glances up.

"I think dinner would be pretty good. Take my mind off everything that's happened today." Quinn squeezes Marley's hand.

"If you're sure." Marley watches her closely, finally smiling when Quinn nods.

* * *

She can't sleep – which is given, considering the events of the day. It's physically impossible for her to still be running on the adrenaline high, but Marley feels like every nerve in her body is awake.

Her thoughts are drawn from focusing on the ceiling when she hears the creaky floorboard at the top of the stairs. Immediately, Marley rises from the bed and fetches the oversized coat from her closet, heading downstairs – careful to avoid the creaky board, and the others on the stairs.

Marley's search is mercifully quick. The porch door is slightly ajar, and she slips through.

Quinn starts. "Sorry – did I wake you?"

"No. I couldn't sleep, too. Are you cold?" Marley asks.

"Not really."

Marley's eyes trail up her girlfriend's body, from her bare feet, shorts, and finally her long-sleeved Yale alumni shirt. "You sure? I'm always happy to share," she says, holding out her arms – hidden in the sleeves of the jacket she's wearing.

"... Maybe a little," admits Quinn. "I wasn't thinking when I came out here without a sweater."

"Understandable." Marley opens her arms. "Here."

"... what am I supposed to do?"

She beckons with an empty sleeve. "Come here." Marley guides Quinn to step closer until they're chest-to-chest. "Put your arms around me, under the jacket." When Quinn does, Marley wraps her sleeved arms around Quinn, completing the circle. "There. Warm."

"Ingenious." Quinn rests her forehead against Marley's. Her eyes flutter closed.

Even though they're both standing, Marley feels comfortable enough to fall asleep.

"So…"

Quinn laughs softly. "It's weird, having you be the persistent one for once. It reminds me of Rachel." She tugs on Marley's shirt, and then turns away slightly to look at the wooden porch seat. Marley releases her; before she joins Quinn, Marley shrugs off the jacket and throws it over their laps like a blanket.

"I'm sorry," says Marley softly once they're settled. She's not sure if the comparison to Rachel is a good thing or not.

"No. It's not a bad thing, I… she literally changed my life. She helped me get over myself, helped me see outside of the narrow worldview I had…" Quinn trails off. She toys with a knot on the armrest of the wooden bench. "Without her, I probably would never have left town. I'd probably be a real estate agent, or working in Walmart. Maybe married to Finn."

Marley laughs despite herself. "I find that incredibly hard to believe, given how amazingly driven and ambitious you are."

"Believe it," replies Quinn lightly. "I was angry at everyone, and isolated. One of those misguided kids lashing out at the world, the kind of teenager you see in Facebook motivational videos. I hit rock bottom."

"And you picked yourself up," says Marley staunchly.

Quinn smiles. "Before that, though, there was Rachel." Her fingers stop their back-and-forth movement over the smooth wood. "I think that's how I ended up having the biggest crush on her."

Marley's eyes go to Quinn's face. They've never talked about it before; Quinn refusing to share, and Rachel horribly awkward and apologetic. She wonders what it has to do with Judy Fabray and the incidents of yesterday, but chooses not to comment.

"She pushed me out of my comfort zone almost constantly," says Quinn, sounding amused, "and she always managed to find my last nerve and trample it. Of course, she's changed a lot during college," adds Quinn as though sensing Marley's difficulty reconciling the Rachel she knows with the one Quinn's describing. "She used to be way more annoying."

Marley nods. Quinn's always saying how being with Santana has mellowed Rachel, but she's still fairly highly-strung to the point Marley can't picture her being worse.

"She taught me that I didn't need my parents' approval. That being myself wasn't something I needed to hide or apologise for." Quinn finally lifts her gaze from the ground. "But I never got around to saying that to my parents' faces."

"Everything I've done, it was away from my mom," continues Quinn. "And everytime I visited, I had to act like how she expected me to. I didn't like who I had to be in Lima, but I could never break the habit of being that Quinn."

"I didn't do much," protests Marley.

"Marley, you went to my house to talk to my mother because you were upset over the things she said to me that made _me_ upset," says Quinn. "It had nothing to do with you, honestly, but you cared enough to do it. There are very few people who would do that for me."

"I was terrified."

"And yet, you did it." Quinn rests her head against Marley's shoulder. "You probably have no idea how much that means to me."

Marley says nothing, simply starts combing her fingers through Quinn's hair.

"My mom and I… we said a lot of things to each other that probably should've been said earlier." Out of the corner of Marley's eye, she sees Quinn's mouth twist. "There's still a lot of stuff. Years and years of issues, but… at least it's a start. Hopefully we'll work some things out."

"That's good."

"We'll never have the kind of relationship you and your mom have, but… it's better than nothing."

"Quinn, based on what I know about you and your family, making an effort to repair your relationship with your mom is a huge thing. Especially since this entire blow up was partly my fault…"

"What?" Quinn straightens. "Your fault? Why?"

Marley looks away. "W-well, you told your mom about me."

"Marley." Hands cup her face tenderly, urging her to look back at her girlfriend. When she finally does, Quinn's expression is intense. "None of this is your fault. If anything, I should be thanking you for starting off all this… it pushed me and my mom to be honest with each other for the first time in years, instead of going through the motions of pretending to get along."

"I feel bad that you felt bad."

Quinn laughs, lightly and unexpectedly. "I'm Quinn Fabray. Emotional meltdowns are kinda my thing."

"I wish they weren't," says Marley. She turns her face to kiss the palm of Quinn's right hand; her fingers curl around Quinn's wrists.

Quinn's response is to pull Marley closer, her lips ghosting over Marley's forehead.

* * *

She sleeps in – it's expected, really, after the night they both had. The spot beside her is rumpled and empty by the time she wakes; by now, Marley has gotten used to it.

A familiar voice catches her attention when Marley leaves her room. It filters from the guest room.

" – shouldn't let her talk to you like that." The voice is distorted by distance and electronics but it's unmistakably Santana Lopez's.

"She's my mother, Lopez." Quinn sounds exasperated. "You _know_ what she's like."

"Honestly, Q, you're supposed to be the Ivy League graduate twice over. I can't believe you thought coming out to _Judy Fabray_ would be a good idea. Especially since, y'know, this _is_ the same lady who kicked you out for being preggo after having sex with a _man_. Totally being understanding, and all."

"If you're gonna talk like that, I'm putting you off speaker…"

This should be Marley's cue to stop eavesdropping, but she doesn't move – especially since Quinn's voice floats out: "She's been… _everything_ , S. I don't know how to put it."

A beat. "... Yeah. Something like that. Rachel… what? Yes, I – yes. More than it ever – huh? Yeah, I remember. Why?"

Marley's fingers twitch, eager to get away so she won't get caught eavesdropping. Her gut, however, tells her to stay put. On the phone, Quinn is saying: "... Yeah, I mean – that's why I… S? Oh, got it. Yes, I'll call you back… no, I won't let you blow up my phone again…"

She stiffens as the words register, then Marley quietly walks away.

There's a note on the kitchen table; her mom will be back late because she's headed for her class after work. She sends off a quick text to say she's got it, then gets out the things to make breakfast.

For some reason, hearing Quinn talk about Rachel now unsettles her; a distinct and unpleasant change from the vague discomfited feeling she'd gotten while Quinn was talking about it last night. She'd dismissed it before because there were other things she'd had on her mind, but…

The feeling of jealousy, hot and irrational, disgusts her. She's human, but… Marley's not that girl anymore. It has nothing to do with how she still has a lingering sense of inadequacy that Quinn's too good for her, that she doesn't have the bright career path she's always dreamed of, that her girlfriend has no shortage of attractive and successful admirers –

She drops a pan. "Shit," hisses Marley, grabbing at it to silence the clattering. Setting it back on the counter, Marley places both hands on either side, taking deep breaths to clear her thoughts.

Quinn pokes her head in. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Lifting her head, Marley smiles at her girlfriend. "I'm fine. Sorry I woke you."

"I've been awake for a while."

She lets Quinn put her arms around her waist. "Do you need help?" asks Quinn, her chin resting on Marley's shoulder.

Marley's eyes trail over the counter, with the tray of eggs, the pack of meats, and other assorted foods in various states of preparation. "... Maybe?"

Quinn laughs; she tightens the embrace for a split-second before letting go. "I can work with that. I'll cook the bacon."

"Of course you will," says Marley. "The most important part of the meal."

"I have no idea what youre talking about. I'm letting you do the scrambled eggs because they're the best I've ever eaten – apart from your mom's, of course." A shadow passes over Quinn's face, but Marley thinks she may be overthinking it, because it's gone the next instant. Quinn turns to put the pan on the fire, cutting a pat of butter for the bacon.

Together, they put together a simple breakfast. Quinn takes a bite of eggs and sighs. "I've missed this. When was the last time you made them for me?"

"It's been a while."

"Too long." Quinn gives her a shy smile over the rim of her coffee mug; Marley's heart flutters – and is dampened by the memory of her dark thoughts earlier. She returns the smile after a beat.

As soon as breakfast's done and the kitchen cleaned up, Marley checks her email. Her heart pounds as she opens the one new mail from another record label…

… and closes it a few minutes later.

Quinn notices. "Did you…?"

"No." She bites on her lower lip. "They emailed, but it was just a form letter saying they've filled all their vacancies."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thanks."

"... You know what? Let's go out and do something."

Marley blinks. "Huh?"

* * *

Quinn's idea of _doing something_ turns out to be driving her car. Marley surrenders her car keys bemusedly, letting Quinn take the wheel. "Where are we going?" she asks just as they pull out of the driveway.

"You'll see," says Quinn.

Marley rests her chin on her hand, looking out the window. Excitement flutters low in her belly despite the disappointment of the email. Gradually, the scenery outside morphs from urban to rural.

"Isn't this the way to your place?"

"Our place," corrects Quinn, sounding distracted as she makes a turn.

It occurs to Marley then that she's heard Quinn refer to it as such before – albeit being in such a small and broken voice that she didn't pay it much attention. A thrill of excitement shoots through Marley's body when she hears the place she's always thought of as Quinn's, be referred to as theirs, and she grins widely.

When Quinn pulls up into the space. Marley turns to her. "Okay. Why here?"

Quinn points at the black car parked in the corner. "We were supposed to pick my car up, weren't we?"

"Oh, _right_." She'd completely forgotten. Her girlfriend, however, doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. She kills the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition, and gets out of the car. Marley is quick to follow.

Quinn leans against the compact black car, hands in the pockets of her sundress. A wind picks up, ruffling her bangs. "Did I ever tell you how I got this car?" she asks abruptly.

"No?" Marley mimics her casual position against the car, but turns so her front presses against the warm metal. She rests her elbows on the roof.

"I used to drive a red Camaro," she says casually. "A gift from my parents for being the youngest-ever captain of the Cheerios. It was completely totaled in the wreck, of course." Quinn brushes hair out of her eyes. "After the doctors said there was a chance I'd never walk again, my mom used a chunk of her life savings to buy this for me because she'd read somewhere that it was easy for wheelchair-bound people to drive… and it was the furthest thing from that red Camaro she could find."

Marley doesn't say anything.

"She got it second-hand because it was the only way she could afford it. Turns out, being married to Russell Fabray means that you don't get much stuff of your own." Quinn shrugs carelessly. "I know she loves me – in her own way. Sure, it's twisted and weird, but it's just how she is."

"You're nothing like her, if that's what you're worried about."

Quinn tilts her head to the side. "Am I?"

"You don't need me to tell you that."

"The same way I don't need you to put so much of yourself into being here for me." She glances at her car. "We need to drop this off at my mom's."

Marley nods. "I'll be right behind you."

* * *

Her hands are tense on the wheel the entire drive back to Quinn's house. Marley can't help but feel nervous, even though it's a short visit and Judy Fabray might not even be at home anyway.

She stops on the kerb, getting out of her car as Quinn pulls into the driveway. As she gets closer, she sees Quinn run a hand through her hair.

"I didn't bring my house key out," Quinn calls sheepishly. Even though her tone is light, Marley's known her long enough to sense the tension holding Quinn's spine taut like a wire stretched to breaking point.

"That's fine," she says. "For the best, even. Uh, you could slip the car key in the door slot? Or the mailbox?"

"Oh, yeah. I think the door is a better idea. She'll find it when she checks the mail tomorrow morning." Quinn heads up the path to the trim front door of the Fabray house… sw

… which swings open when she approaches. "Quinn," says Judy Fabray, "you came home."

"Mom," says Quinn stiffly. She looks just as taken aback as Marley feels.

Marley takes quick strides so she's standing just behind Quinn; her hand rests briefly on Quinn's arm to let her know she's there. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Fabray."

Judy barely pays her any attention. "Have you thought about our conversation earlier? I truly am sorry, Quinn; I've been a terrible mother to you all these years."

"Yes, I've given it some thought." Quinn says quietly. "I don't think you're a terrible mother, Mom, but this is hardly the conversation we should be having right now. I'm not ready."

"But you're…"

"I'm only here to return my car." She holds out the car keys over Judy's hand and lets go; Judy's fingers automatically close around them. "I'll talk to you later. Goodbye, Mom." Quinn spins on her heel.

Marley and Judy are left to stare at each other. Marley mutters a quick, awkward goodbye before following Quinn back to the car. She manages to unlock it so Quinn can slide into the passenger seat.

Before she starts the engine, she rests her hand on the white-knuckled grip Quinn has on her thigh. "Quinn, are you alright?"

Quinn leans back in her seat and heaves a sigh. "I probably look better than I feel."

"I don't think you've ever looked like crap in your life."

"Stick around and you might be surprised." She does smile, the quirking of the corner of her mouth. "Let's go."

"I'm proud of you," Marley tells her.

Quinn tilts her head to the side, one eyebrow arched, a Mona Lisa-esque smile on her lips.

* * *

Once they arrive home, Quinn gets out of the car and heads inside before Marley can say a word.

Marley blows out a breath through her teeth, slouching in the car seat. She really isn't built for emotional rollercoasters of this magnitude, but she _is_ tough. She intends to hang in there for as long as it takes, as long as Quinn needs her.

Killing the engine, she locks the car and goes in. "Quinn?"

There's nothing to point her to Quinn's whereabouts. Marley heads upstairs to change into something more comfy. From her bedroom window, she spots Quinn standing in the back garden.

Curious, she goes downstairs.

Quinn has her back to the house. The screen door makes a noise when Marley closes it behind her, and it causes Quinn to turn so her head's in profile.

"I didn't know you smoke," says Marley. Her eyes travel from the plume of smoke leaving the cigarette in Quinn's hand, to the lazy wisps visible when she exhales.

"Came with the pink hair and ripped fishnets," quips Quinn. She lifts it back to her lips. "I started smoking to fit in better with the group of girls under the bleachers. These days, I only smoke when I'm stressed." Blowing out more smoke, she adds with a wry smile: "I think I've earned this one."

Marley can only nod. Her eyes follow the smoke as it climbs upward and dissipates completely. "Yeah."

"You should go in first. I'll be a while," says Quinn.

"No, I'm fine." Marley stands a little more than an arm's length away. She doesn't like the smell, how it clings to her clothes; she remembers a time when she would search for vacant bathrooms to purge in, and how they invariably stank of cigarette smoke. "You're brushing your teeth before you kiss me, though."

Quinn chuckles. "Yes, ma'am."

Her phone rings, disrupting the moment. Quinn checks caller ID and her frown loosens. "God, I thought it was S," she says, and hits answer. "Hi, Britt. No, you're not disturbing anything…"

Marley signals at her that she's going in; Quinn waves, but she's clearly distracted as she continues her conversation with Brittany.

Back inside, she pours herself some water and wanders into the living room. The TV plays unwatched as white noise to distract her from her thoughts, to little avail. Marley takes out her phone to keep her hands occupied.

"Hey."

She puts her phone down on the sofa, sitting up straight. "Hi."

"So – I hate to make it sound like I'm abandoning you, but… Brittany asked me to meet her at the Lima Bean in half an hour."

Marley frowns. "Why are you putting it that way? I'm not the boss of you, Quinn; _of course_ you should go out. I mean – she's your friend." She rises from the couch, kisses Quinn's cheek, ignoring the smell of smoke. "Go on."

"You could come along."

"Brittany's not dumb. If she wants to talk to me, she'd have asked you to bring me along. I'm guessing she wants to talk to you alone," says Marley with a smile. "Besides… we talked plenty, earlier."

Quinn shakes her head. "This is weird."

"It's only weird if we make it weird." Marley takes Quinn's hand, presses her car keys into it. "Bring me back an iced coffee, okay?"

"You're okay being alone at home…?"

Marley shrugs. "You know me," she says. "Staying in with a good book is almost my idea of heaven." She strokes the side of Quinn's face. "Hey. What's with that frown?"

"I don't know what I've done to have someone like you," mumbles Quinn, catching Marley's hand with hers and squeezing it.

"Quinn, it's going out for coffee with a friend. If we get married, there'll be plenty of times when you'll want to go out with friends and I'll want to stay home, vice versa. It's perfectly normal." She stops talking when she sees Quinn's expression change.

"Married?"

She feels her cheeks burn. "If. The possibility of which. I mean, people go into relationships with the end goal of finding a life partner and marriage is just part of that... " Marley trails off. "Please say something."

Quinn nods. "Okay. So…"

"So…"

"I'll be back later. I'll call you."

Once Quinn's left, Marley slumps on the couch with a groan. It's ironic how she was the one who talked about not making things weird, and then… "Open mouth, insert foot," she mutters aloud.

She's twenty-two, for goodness' sake. She's never had a relationship last more than a year – she and Quinn have only been dating for a few months. All Marley knows is that she loves Quinn, and that it's too soon to know if she can be in love with Quinn. And, really… she _does_ love Quinn, but her girlfriend doesn't have the best track record with commitment. It makes Marley feel horrible to think the worst of Quinn, but it's part of her; she loves every bit of what makes up Quinn Fabray.

It feels strange to be thinking about marriage when she was having irrational jealous thoughts about her girlfriend's old crush not too long ago.

Marley flings an arm over her face. She really should talk to someone, watch TV, read a book… anything but let her thoughts run wild.

* * *

Her mom senses she's not up to explaining why Quinn isn't joining them for dinner, and why she looks as though someone ran over her dog. All she does is direct Marley towards a cutting board and knife, and set several large onions on the board. "Stir-fry for dinner tonight?" she asks, and Marley nods.

She normally hates cutting onions, but she also doesn't know what she's feeling exactly. Onion-induced tears seem to be the closest to what she's going through now emotionally, however. Marley dips her head, sniffles loudly.

Millie looks over from where she's cutting up bok choy. "That's right," she says, "let it all out."

"It's the onions, Mom" says Marley thickly.

"I know, honey."

* * *

They make too much food. Millie tuts and says something about having an off day at estimating portions, but Marley can't help but notice that the amount leftover is just about enough for another person.

It makes her smile. No matter what happens, what changes between her and Quinn, she'll always have a home with the Roses.

Marley goes up to her room, but she doesn't go to bed. She opens the window just enough for her to be able to squeeze through, and crawls out onto the roof. The night is a little chilly, but the first stars are just about visible, and she thinks it might clear up enough to spot a few constellations.

She reaches back inside for the blanket and a pillow from under the window seat, spreading the blanket on the roof tiles and lying on it. Marley tucks the pillow under her head and takes a deep breath. Ordinarily, she'd come out here in the daytime when she wanted to enjoy a book uninterrupted by chores, or just find a quiet place to think. This is the first time she's outside at night.

Looking up at the night sky reminds her of the night near the railyard, years ago; staring at the moon through the sun-hatch of Quinn's car. Of a time when they were only friends, and her future was a lot brighter than the moon.

Marley runs her hand through her hair, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. The roof is still warm from the sun, and the worn old blanket smells of home and comfort. Her mom was right; crying – even onion-induced crying – cleared her emotions somewhat and calmed her enough to be able to think clearly.

She's been Quinn's emotional support for almost as long as they've known each other – ironically, since it was Quinn reaching out to her that sparked their friendship. She's made an effort to let Quinn know she isn't dealing with this crisis alone with her usual methods; through touch, words.

Marley wonders if it's enough. The memory of the afternoon on the couch comes to mind unbidden; she flushes scarlet.

"Marley? Your mom – oh my god!" Quinn dashes forward, throwing the window wide open. Marley, startled, sits up. "Why are you on the roof?"

"It's fine! It's perfectly safe – please don't scream," says Marley in an urgent whisper. "I've been coming out to the roof ever since high school; my mom doesn't know I'm here." She crawls over to the window. "I didn't hear you get back."

"You could slip and fall. It's so dangerous. Please come back in."

"Fine." She climbs back into her room, crossing it in quick strides to shut the door and turn on the light. "You missed dinner. Are you hungry?"

Quinn shakes her head. "After coffee, Finn joined us with some food."

"... how'd that work out for you?"

She makes a face, and some of the tension in the room evaporates. "Terribly. It was so awkward."

"I'm sorry that happened."

Quinn takes a tentative step towards her, and halts. "Are you okay? Your mom said you were tired, and you went to bed early." Her eyes flick to the window and back.

"I'm fine. I like sitting on the roof; it's my thinking spot when I don't want to be disturbed."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"For what?" A surprised laugh escapes Marley. "I don't mean to be rude, but… you've been doing a lot of apologising recently, and most of the time I don't get why – unless you meant startling me just now."

"Well – that too, but mostly… for not being as supportive of you as I should have." Quinn's expression turns serious. "Marley, I know you've got a lot on your mind with the job offers…"

"I don't want to talk about it," she prevaricates.

"I understand. But all this drama with me and my mom… it can't be helping at all." She closes the remaining distance between them so they're almost nose to nose. "I know I take you for granted a lot of the time. This was supposed to be your trip to relax before you started your career."

"I want to be here for you," insists Marley.

"And I appreciate that," says Quinn, equally as firmly. "You know… Brittany reminded me of just how much you've been here for me. Listen, Marley… we've still got a few days left here before we go back to New York and reality. I think it's about time I'm here for you."

Really, Quinn shouldn't say such things to her when she's in this frame of mind. Smiling, Marley kisses her. Quinn doesn't hesitate to kiss her back; her hands settle on Marley's hips and grip the fabric tightly.

"I love you." She takes Quinn's face in both hands, bringing her in for a deeper, more passionate kiss. One hand slides down to the small of Quinn's back to draw their bodies flush together.

"Marley, what are you…?" She trails off when Marley pecks her lips gently, then starts kissing down her neck. Quinn moans and tips her head back.

She turns them around and walks them forward until her knee hits the side of her bed. Marley gently pushes at Quinn's shoulders, guiding her to sit down, tugging at the neck of her shirt to kiss the bared skin.

"Marley… your _mom_ ," mutters Quinn.

"I don't care." She rests a knee outside of Quinn's hip so she can move closer without crushing her girlfriend. Marley nips at Quinn's collarbone, eliciting a gasp. "I want you now," she whispers, and she sees a shiver pass through Quinn. "Please, Quinn."

"Are you sure?" She looks uncertain, teeth worrying her lower lip – but her eyes are dark with arousal, and Marley can't think past wanting that mouth on her.

"I'm ready."

Hands curl around her shoulders, and tug her down. They topple onto the bed. Lips start at the base of her throat, the sensation making her arch her back. Marley moans, letting pleasure sink her, letting Quinn take control. "You're so beautiful," says Quinn, and she flips them over so Marley's sprawled on her back.

" _Quinn_."

Quinn's fingers toy with the hem of Marley's T-shirt, slowly dragging the material upwards. Her eyes flutter shut, and she struggles to open them again. Marley wants every moment of this imprinted in her memory. The sight of Quinn's tongue on her chest causes her heartbeat to run wild – and then those pink lips close around a nipple, and her mind short-circuits.

"Please."

There's what sounds like a chuckle, which also sends pleasure thrumming through her body. Fingers slide over her panties. Marley pants – and gasps when they brush her clit. Her hips thrust into Quinn. Quinn's tongue is doing wonderful things to her breast, just as her fingers start a delicious rhythm over her clit.

"Ohh, yes, _Quinnnn – "_

She comes hard, gasping out her orgasm, holding on to Quinn for dear life. "I barely touched you," comes Quinn's voice from somewhere above her, sounding amused.

Marley opens her eyes. She doesn't have the words to respond, letting her hands communicate what she's feeling right now. She raises herself a little so her hands can reach all the way around Quinn's back and undo her bra; meanwhile, she presses kisses to Quinn's throat. She's still breathing hard, running on the high of her orgasm and the desire to touch Quinn.

When she sits up proper, Quinn is straddling her lap, letting her take advantage of their proximity. Marley tugs at Quinn's shirt, and she obliges. Marley doesn't waste any time, resting her hands on Quinn's hips, kissing the bared skin of her stomach, tugging away the undone bra.

Quinn sucks in a breath audibly when Marley cups her breast, rolling the nipple in her fingers like Quinn did to hers.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Marley steadies her the best she can, then her mouth covers Quinn's other nipple and suckles. She takes her time, watching Quinn's face closely, gauging what she likes.

Quinn's mouth drops open, letting a soft "oh" escape. Her eyelids drift to half-mast. Marley relishes this newfound control she has over her girlfriend.

Finally, she turns her attention lower. "Yes," hisses Quinn when Marley's hand brushes soft wet heat.

"I don't know what I'm doing," whispers Marley.

"Just don't stop," grits out Quinn, who trails off into a low moan as Marley finds her clit, and traces small circles. "God, _yes_. Inside."

Marley leaves a kiss on Quinn's chest, and turns her attention upwards – and downwards. She enters Quinn with two fingers, relishing the moan Quinn makes. Her girlfriend's head falls forward onto her shoulder, breath hot on skin; her hands find Marley's shoulders, and hold on tight.

She kisses Quinn. "You're so beautiful," she says, and thrusts. Quinn's hips meet the movement of her hand, and Marley feels rather than hears her girlfriend's rapid breathing.

"Faster. _Yes_ …"

She's learned – in a very short time – that Quinn likes pain mixed with her pleasure. Marley turns her head to nip at Quinn's neck, taking care to soothe each press of teeth with her tongue. The movement of her hand doesn't stop, so by the time she's traversed the column of Quinn's neck, the woman on top of her is practically sobbing with frustration.

"My god, Marley, just stop _fucking_ teasing me and – " She cuts herself off, body tightening as she comes, a soft curse escaping her lips. The grip she has on Marley's shoulders tightens painfully.

Marley kisses her again, pleased with her work, and nuzzles her forehead. "I love you."

Quinn makes a soft sound. The tips of her fingers stroke Marley's cheek, and then she shifts to lie fully on the bed; Marley following suit. "Not that I'm complaining, but… I thought you weren't ready."

"I, um… I know." She fidgets with the bedsheet, and quells the slight pang of disappointment that Quinn didn't say it back. "But I don't regret it, though."

"Me neither. I'm just surprised that we, uhm, our first time was in your room with your mom down the hall. When I imagine it, it was a lot less… _spontaneous_."

Marley shrugs. "The only thing I knew for certain was there wouldn't be rose petals and candles. Like, overdone romance cliches." She glances up at Quinn's face; a grin spreads across her face. "I think this is way better."

"So do I."

She snuggles closer. "I'm really happy right now. I kinda get what the hype is all about now, I didn't know it could feel like this."

Arms wrap around her, Quinn's soft chuckle reverberating in her hair. "You're adorable."

* * *

She wakes shortly after dawn. Marley lies on her side, watching Quinn's back. She gets it now, all those contradictions about love; being simultaneously terrified and confident, content and anxious, restless and settled.

In the early light, the whitish healed scars over Quinn's back are visible. Marley feels privileged to be seeing this side of Quinn, literally; a side that she doesn't show many people. Her vulnerability is something Quinn guards fiercely, and yet has gifted to Marley.

Marley sidles closer. Her fingertip hovers over the top of Quinn's left shoulder, poised over a jagged white line. After a pause, it skates across a shoulder blade and the top of an elegant spine, following the scar.

Quinn stirs, but doesn't wake.

She grows bolder. The next scar she traces runs down Quinn's spine and branches off towards her waist, disappearing under the blankets. The precise line tells her that it's from surgery and not twisted metal. Marley's thumb traces the mark.

"... What are you doin'?" asks Quinn, voice heavy with sleep.

"Admiring you," says Marley.

"Nothin' to admire."

"You're wrong." The scars are Quinn personified; evidence of many battles fought and won, of surviving and growing stronger. She kisses the back of Quinn's shoulder, and moves up to nuzzle Quinn's neck.

Quinn rolls onto her back. She looks adorably befuddled. "Where is all this coming from?" she asks as she obligingly kisses Marley back.

"Nowhere. I was just thinking." Quinn's front is relatively scar-free, apart from the mark where the car door cut into the side of her arm; the scar that extended to the back of her shoulder, which Marley was exploring. She flops onto the pillow so her lips brush Quinn's shoulder. "You're beautiful."

"So you keep telling me," answers Quinn lightly. She turns her head so she's facing Marley, and lifts a hand so the knuckles caress Marley's cheek. "As though you aren't just as beautiful yourself."

Marley smiles. "I like telling you." Her fingers wrap around Quinn's. "I like being here with you, like this."

"I never knew you were such a romantic."

"Me neither, until you." She raises Quinn's marked arm to her lips, and kisses the scar.

Quinn's smile never wavers, or loses its gentle affection. "You're something else, you know."

"I'm aware. Is that a good thing?"

"Oh yes," says Quinn. She rolls on her side so she can cup Marley's face and kiss her. "A very good thing."

Marley sighs into the kiss. She feels on fire. Her body presses against Quinn's, and Marley's free hand grasps Quinn's waist.

She pushes off with the other hand, rolling them so Quinn lies flat on her back. Marley loves seeing her girlfriend like this. She wastes no time immediately trailing fingers along the inside of Quinn's thigh.

"Yes," moans Quinn, spreading her legs wider.

This is fast becoming her favourite sight; Quinn, flushed and wanting. Her fingers quickly find wetness and rub. Quinn's eyes flutter shut, a low sound passing her lips. Marley nips at her neck because she knows how sensitive she is there.

"Faster."

She obliges. As much as she's tempted to tease Quinn, now's not the time for it. She knows Quinn's close when her grip on Marley's arms tighten, and she holds on tight as Quinn gasps out her orgasm.

Marley laughs softly, kissing Quinn's closed eyelids. "I could do this all day."

"Your stamina terrifies me, and I was coached by Sue Sylvester," replies Quinn without opening her eyes. "Frannie swore she used top-secret Mossad training techniques."

"What? No, no, not the whole – _sex_ bit," blurts out Marley, blushing crimson. "I mean, being here with you and… that was a disaster." The last is muttered to herself.

Quinn chuckles. "I was teasing. I know what you meant, but I also think you're the most adorable person I've ever met." She combs away the hair stuck to Marley's brow, then kisses her forehead.

* * *

They were expecting Ed to come pick them up from LaGuardia, but Marley can't say she's surprised when she spots Rachel waiting outside baggage claim. "Oh my God! I've missed you guys so much!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around Quinn, then Marley, then back to Quinn. "Are you alright? We're sorry we couldn't come down for you."

"Hi, Rach." Quinn gently unwinds Rachel's grip from around her neck. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Where's Ed?"

"At home, probably. He was ever so gracious to lend Santana and me his car." She leads the way towards the pick up point.

"You and S hijacked his car?"

"Borrowed it," insists Rachel. "I felt that it was important we talk about what happened, Quinn, because you know as well as I do that you're not the most forthcoming about your feelings, and this way you can't run from this discussion like I know you're inclined to do."

Marley nods. Quinn rolls her eyes.

Ed's black Ford sits towards the end of the airport, the boot popping open when they approach. Santana steps out of the car, pushing up her sunglasses, and looks them up and down. "You two finally did the dirty. Wanky."

"Santana!"

"I mean, congratulations."

" _Santana_! Either comment was hardly appropriate!"

"What? It's done wonders, look at them." She points at Quinn. "She's _wayyy_ less uptight with the stick removed from her ass," her finger moves to Marley, "and she no longer gives off that grade school vibe."

Quinn arches an eyebrow at her friend. Marley wants to sink into the ground and disappear forever.

Rachel rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath. With a smile, Quinn starts loading their luggage into the boot; Marley goes to help. "Our friends are insane," Quinn comments, sounding almost fond.

"I still can't get used to it."

Quinn laughs. She kisses Marley's cheek, and they get into the back seat of the car. Rachel and Santana are still bickering even as Santana pulls out onto the road.

"And here I thought you were actually worried about Quinn. I love you, but sometimes you can be _so_ insensitive."

"Hey, I _am_ worried about Tubbers. This is just how I roll; I thought you'd know that, after all these years."

"I do! I don't know what I was expecting, maybe for you to demonstrate a little tact?"

Marley leans over to Quinn. "It sounds serious."

Quinn shrugs. "They'll be fine." Her hand rests on Marley's; the younger girl smiles and entwines their fingers. She looks very much like a cat; sleek, and with a content smile lingering on her lips.

Maybe she's more than a little lovesick, but Marley thinks that her girlfriend is even more beautiful than usual. "If you say so." She cuddles into Quinn's side. "I love you."

* * *

There hasn't been any important mail for her in the week she's been gone. Stan tells her the news in his kindest, most sympathetic tones before he's off to his new job – which was waiting for him to graduate from school.

Gavin's working in his family's moving company, Andie's packing up to move in with her boyfriend in Queens because it's closer to her new job. Both boys have assured Marley that with their combined incomes, they're more than capable of covering Andie's share of the rent.

For now, she has Oscar and his restaurant. It's honestly not a bad place; her meals are free, and he pays her generously. But she continues to send out job applications, and checks her email religiously in hopes of breaking the deadlock.

Atlantic doesn't seem inclined towards letting her go. They extend the job offer until the end of the week, when they'll be embarking on a few major projects, and need to finalise their staff. However, her ex-boss makes it very clear that they're doing her a big favour because of how keen they are to have her onboard; there are many other talented young graduates who are more than happy to take the position.

Marley understands. She ends the call, puts the phone down, and stares up at the ceiling for a long time. The shadows on the walls lengthen by the time she picks up her phone again. "Hey," she says when the line connects.

"Hey, Marley," says Quinn warmly. "What's up?"

"Nothing much. We're still on for tomorrow, aren't we?"

"Mmhmm. Why? Did something come up?"

"... Nope. Just wanted to double check." Marley adjusts her grip on the phone. "See you tomorrow morning."

* * *

Marley shows up bright and early. It takes a while for the door of Quinn's apartment to open, but it does, revealing a bleary-looking Quinn. "Hey," she says brightly, kissing Quinn's cheek.

"Mmmph. What time is it?"

"Eight." She lets herself in – Quinn is too sleepy to bother with niceties – and starts setting up the coffee machine. "Get dressed."

"Where are we going?" Quinn sighs with contentment when the coffee machine hums to life. She plops down at the kitchen table, angling her body so she can rest the side of her head against Marley's shoulder. She yawns widely.

Marley kisses her head. "It's a surprise. Don't fall back asleep." She loves how affectionate Quinn is when she's not fully awake.

"Coffee's not done yet," mumbles Quinn, snuggling in further.

She savours the atmosphere; Quinn tucked into her side, warm and drowsy. The sound – and increasingly, the smell – of coffee. Blonde hair obscuring the left side of her vision. She'll hold this memory forever. "You need to let me get the coffee," she tells Quinn, who grunts in displeasure but moves away.

When Marley sets the full mug in front of her girlfriend, Quinn seems to perk up. "Mmm," she says.

"Perhaps this'll be enough to get you through the shower without drowning," teases Marley.

"Perhaps."

* * *

Quinn returns, freshly showered and dressed, and considerably more awake. "Is this okay?" she asks, gesturing down at her sundress (of course, thinks Marley), neatly belted at the waist.

"Sure."

She snorts. "Eyes up here," scolds Quinn playfully, and Marley rolls her eyes.

"I wasn't even looking in your direction!"

"Even worse." Quinn takes her second mug of coffee – prepared for her while she was in the shower. "So, what have you got planned for today?"

"It's a surprise," repeats Marley patiently, "and if I didn't tell you when you were all sleepy and adorable, I'm certainly not going to now that you're lucid."

Quinn pouts. It's a mannerism she's almost certainly picked up from Rachel, because it looks ridiculous on her, and Marley bursts out laughing. "A hint," she concedes. "It's someplace you're very familiar with."

"... This isn't a set up for something X-rated, is it?"

"No!" Marley groans. "Wow, you've been spending _way_ too much time with Santana."

"I can't help it when you're being annoyingly mysterious."

Marley stands up. "Finish your coffee," she orders, kissing the top of Quinn's head.

* * *

"A picnic in Central Park."

Marley shrugs. "The weather forecast promised unusually warm weather for this time of year, so a spontaneous picnic seemed like a good idea."

"It is." Quinn looks up at her, amused. "So, what's with the blanket?"

Marley shakes out the folded material. "My mom's new hobby."

"That's too pretty to be used as a picnic blanket."

She laughs. "I've got a proper plastic tarp for the grass, don't worry. This is for us. We've got a lot of these now, so I thought we should be out here in comfort." Marley spreads more blankets over the tarp.

The older woman is quick to kick off her shoes and sit down. "I love this," she says, brushing her fingers over the worn fabric.

"Good to hear. Mom made one for you already." Marley joins her, sprawling out fully and stretching her arms over her head. "Wow."

Quinn pokes her side. "I'm starving."

"The basket has snacks," says Marley without opening her eyes.

Quinn pokes her again, harder. "You expect me to go get it?"

"You're the hungry one." Marley fights to keep her face straight; she can practically hear Quinn's ire.

There's silence for a while, then she senses a shadow hovering over her – she gasps, sitting bolt upright, when cold water splashes on her face.

"Thanks for packing an icebox," says Quinn serenely, wiping her hands on her dress and putting the lid back on the icebox, "it was getting a bit hot." She selects a biscuit from the basket, deliberately not meeting Marley's eyes.

Marley splutters. "You evil woman," she says, wiping her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

Quinn finishes the biscuit she was eating. "You brought me out here and then expected me to feed myself. That's completely unacceptable." She reaches for another from the basket.

"Revenge!" Marley tackles Quinn, toppling them sideways onto the blanket; Quinn shrieks in outrage, and then helpless laughter when Marley starts tickling her.

"Stop!" she pleads, pushing at Marley's hands with little success.

"Say you're sorry!"

"But I'm not!"

Marley growls, redoubling her efforts. Quinn is absolutely hopeless at defending herself, mostly because she's ticklish, and Marley doesn't give her a moment's respite.

"Okay! Okay! I surrender!" gasps Quinn in between bouts of laughter. Marley grins, triumphant, and flops face-down on her. "Oof. I couldn't breathe for laughing, and now you wanna squish whatever air left out of my lungs? You're cruel." Despite her words, Quinn hugs her close.

"Mmmhmm. You didn't sound very repentant."

Quinn just smiles. "Can I continue making it up to you now?"

Marley smiles back. "You can try," she says, leaning down to kiss Quinn.

* * *

Despite the warm weather, it gets cold fast once the sun sets. They bustle about, packing up their things. "What's next on the agenda, Miss Rose?" asks Quinn.

Marley shrugs. "I hadn't planned that far ahead. I wasn't sure if you'd be tired after spending the whole day out."

"Come back to my place. I'll cook dinner."

"You'll cook?"

"I'll cook," confirms Quinn. "Nothing too fancy; it's getting late, and I'm not sure we have a wide variety of food at my place."

"I'll eat anything you make," says Marley, and Quinn smiles at her.

"Even if it turns out bad?"

" _Especially_ if it turns out bad."

Quinn laughs. "Glad to hear you've got such faith in my cooking."

She smiles back – though it fades quickly. As much as Marley enjoyed the day, it quickly becomes more apparent to herself that it was just a facade to conceal the real reason she wanted to see Quinn – and it's getting harder to convince herself otherwise.

"You're frowning."

Marley looks up.

"Is something bothering you?"

She's been handed an opportunity – or a death sentence – on a silver platter, and she'd be a fool not to take it. "... Quinn, there's something we need to talk about."

It doesn't take long for Quinn to make a guess. "Is it about your job offers?"

Marley nods. "I've been putting it off all day because I just wanted to enjoy today with you."

Quinn catches her hand and squeezes.

"There's only ever been two. I've applied to…" she shrugs helplessly, "maybe fifty places, and I haven't heard back from any of them."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thanks, but… I have to pick one. I've been graduated for close to two months now; I need a real job soon. My loans aren't gonna pay themselves off, and I want to start looking after my mom…"

"I know."

She takes a deep breath. "Atlantic called a couple of days ago. They gave me an ultimatum; I have to give them an answer by tomorrow afternoon."

"Which is…?"

"I'm going to turn them down and take the New York job."

A few emotions flit over Quinn's face in quick succession, then vanish, replaced by stoniness. "... What?"

"It's nearby enough so I won't have moving costs, I can start immediately…" she starts to babble, alarmed by Quinn's reaction.

Quinn lets go of her hand to brush away a lock of her hair. "It's not in your industry." Quinn stares at her. "Marley, I've seen what you can do, and so have they; _that's_ why they're offering you this chance. You _have_ to take their offer."

"And move halfway across the country? Away from everything and everyone? From you?"

Quinn shakes her head. "I can't be everything. You know that."

"I do. Believe me, I've taken it all into serious consideration. While you are one of the most important people in my life, you're not the sole reason I'm staying." Marley reaches for Quinn, who doesn't seem to notice. Stung, Marley lets her hand fall to her side.

"I can't believe you're throwing everything away like that."

"I'm not. I've thought it over…"

"No, you haven't. If you really thought it over, you'd have taken Atlantic's offer immediately." Quinn looks distraught. "Why are you being so dumb, Marley?"

"I'm not! You're talking to me as though I'm a kid, like I don't know what I'm doing!" Marley fumes, hands curled into fists. "It's not like I know what you're doing now. You're trying to push me away like you pushed Rachel away."

Quinn goes white. "What?"

And it's too late to take back her words. Even if she could, however, Marley wasn't raised that way. "You tried to push Rachel away in that stupid, self-sacrificing way you do. It's not like that; I know what I'm doing."

" _Do_ you?" challenges Quinn, chin raised. "How do you know? Have you worked a full-time job before?"

"Stop it!"

"No, _you_ stop being a stubborn little girl. Listen to me, _just this once_." Quinn grabs her by the shoulders. "This has _nothing_ to do with Rachel. I don't care about her. This is about you, and you need to _go_. It's not just the job and the money; it's a chance for you to meet contacts, to network. Your industry relies on networking, and who you know. Marley… you're so talented; you know that?"

"So are you – you went to _two_ Ivy League schools."

Quinn shakes her head. "Being smart isn't the same as being talented. And you are _so_ talented – you do things with music no one else can. I can't bear watching someone as gifted and hard-working as you wasting your time on a dead-end job." Quinn's voice cracks a little. "It would kill you, and that would kill me."

She knows that all too well; the thought of Rachel staying in Lima as Mrs Finn Hudson is the reason Quinn wears her thin white scars like armour. But she's still angry, and she ignores the warning signs. "You're not brushing me off that easily, Quinn," she says hotly. "Are you that eager to send me on my way?"

Quinn flinches. "What do you mean?"

"I don't understand why you keep pushing away the people you claim to love. Especially after… did last week mean nothing to you?"

"You don't understand," snaps Quinn, clearly hurt.

"Yes, I do. I'm not a child, Quinn."

"Oh yeah? Because right now, you're acting exactly like one," replies Quinn sharply. "You'll be making a huge mistake by not taking Atlantic's offer, Marley. Just like how Rachel was making a huge mistake trying to marry Finn. You said I'm smart, right? Yeah, I'm smart enough to see why this shouldn't even be a hard decision to make." Her mouth twists. "I care about you. That means I want what's best for you, even if it breaks me. Even if it means sending you to the other end of the country."

"You care about me?"

"I do!"

"But you don't love me?"

Quinn stares at her, dumbfounded.

"... Okay." Marley wipes at her face with her sleeve, and goes to pick up the forgotten picnic things. "I… I should go home. I need… it's not you," she interrupts herself, lifting wide and panicked eyes to Quinn's, "I should just…"

"Be alone tonight," finishes Quinn. "I get it." She turns on her heel and leaves without another word.

* * *

Making the decision was the easy part. Once she'd decided on Atlantic, everything else falls into line as part of the natural order; arrangements for an apartment, moving costs, plane tickets… She kind of hates that the original offer salary alone is enough that she can afford her own apartment – a real apartment, not just a shared shoebox in a dingy district.

It's completely unsurprising that Unique and Rachel show up after she texts Unique. "Where's Quinn?" is the first question out of Unique.

Marley's lip twists. "I don't know."

"Oh, honey." Unique and Rachel exchange looks, then they split ways; Unique to wrap Marley up in a hug, Rachel to the kitchen. She reappears minutes later with three wine glasses and a bottle opener.

Marley watches, fascinated, as Rachel neatly arranges everything on the table, removes a bottle of wine from the bag on her arm, uncorks it with one smooth movement, and pours a generous portion into each glass. "I've done this way too many times," says Rachel with a shrug, and hands them each a glass. "To embarking on new careers."

"Hear, hear," says Unique. She'd bumped into an editorial assistant from _Runway_ two weeks into her off-off-Broadway musical, and had been persuaded into applying for an intern position at the magazine – which she'd gotten three days ago.

"Im sorry, but I don't feel much like celebrating." She takes a polite sip of her wine – a good Pinot Gris, crisp and refreshing – and sets the glass down. "Wait. Where's Santana?"

Rachel spares her a look. "Where else?"

"Ah."

Unique smiles bracingly. "You made a good decision, Marl. I'm not gonna say it's the right one, but I can tell you it's a pretty damn good one."

"Thanks, Unique." Her best friend is right, she's sure;but but right now she's not in the best mood, and she feels like lashing out at the next person who looks at her wrong. Marley supposes that's the reason why Santana isn't here.

"Drink up." Rachel refills hers and Unique's glasses, then pauses at Marley's. "Marley."

"What?"

"Drink. You'll feel better, trust me."

She does, god help her; next to her mom and Quinn and Unique, Rachel ranks pretty high on the list of people she trusts. But it's the memory of Rachel's presence in her dark thoughts and the conversations she's had with Quinn that spurs her on to finish the contents of her glass.

Unique hoots as Marley grimaces and sets the empty glass down; the hooting increasing in volume when Rachel neatly tops it off with wine.

"You're kidding me."

"Nope," says Rachel, popping the 'p'.

Just to spite her, Marley drinks. Annoyingly, she's right; she _does_ feel a little better. More numb, certainly. Rachel laughs when Marley tells her so.

"God, I feel like I'm back in NYADA again," sighs Rachel. "Getting wasted in someone's apartment."

"Except the wine isn't cheap and horrible." Unique swirls it around in her glass.

"Yeah."

Marley can't take it anymore. "Okay, why are you guys here?"

"To celebrate, of course."

She can't help it; she snorts. Luckily, Unique also snorts at the same time, so the weight of Rachel's disdain is evenly distributed between them. "Despite all the other factors marring this," she says loudly, glaring at them both, "being handpicked for a job is always a cause for celebration."

Marley leans over. "Is she drunk?" she whispers.

"On her way," Unique whispers back. "She's still such a lightweight."

It gives her an idea. There are a few things she has left unexplored, and if she'll be apart from Quinn… Marley sips her wine thoughtfully. Rachel pours herself the last of the bottle, and pulls another from the bag under the table.

"Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"Could I talk to you for a bit?"

Rachel nods, eyes wide and bright. "Certainly." Over her shoulder, Marley silently communicates with her eyes to Unique, willing her to understand.

Her best friend does. There's the eyebrow raise and slight incline of her head that means she'll have a _lot_ to explain later, but Unique reaches for the TV remote.

Marley clicks her door shut. Rachel sits on the bed. Her cheeks are a little flushed. "What did you want to talk about? If it's about long-distance relationships…"

"Uh, not really."

"Oh."

Marley joins her on the bed. "I wanted to ask you some things about Quinn."

Rachel darts a surprised look at her sideways. "Quinn? What, exactly, if you don't mind my asking?"

"... You know as well as I do that Quinn is… very guarded about her past?"

Rachel snorts. "That's putting it lightly, but yes."

"The incident in Lima, and talking to Judy, shed a lot of insight on Quinn's childhood and upbringing. Things I think I may never have learned about her." Marley places her hands palm-down on the bedspread. "She's opened up to me before, but I didn't… I never knew it was that bad."

"It's a small miracle she turned out as wonderful she did," says Rachel with a fond smile.

She agrees completely. "There's something else, though, that I want to know. And I'm guessing that it's even more unlikely that Quinn'll ever open up about that, and before I… I'd like to know."

Even tipsy, Rachel has always been adept at reading between the lines. Marley watches as her expression goes from intrigued to complete understanding, and a little wistfulness. "You're asking about me and her," says Rachel after a pause.

"Yes." Perhaps she's drunk too, because Marley can't believe she asked something like that so blatantly.

Rachel smooths the palms of her hands over her slightly creased skirt. "I was not expecting that, to be honest with you, but your curiosity is perfectly understandable. What do you want to know?"

"If she was so adamant that you not marry Finn, why did she agree to go to your wedding?"

Rachel starts. "I… you don't mince your words, do you?"

Marley returns the weak smile.

"Quinn is… she's a paradox." Rachel chews thoughtfully on her lower lip. "She's thrown up the strongest walls to hide the most vulnerable heart. Quinn knew I was making a mistake, but she couldn't bear seeing me unhappy because she liked me romantically… at least, that's how I interpreted her actions."

"Didn't you guys talk about it?"

Rachel snorts. "Are we talking about the same person? This _is_ Quinn Fabray, after all." She shakes her head, smiling. "But to answer your question, not really. Things were already… _difficult_ , when Quinn eventually confessed her feelings for me," admits Rachel. "I wasn't as mature as I am now – "

Marley coughs. Rachel shoots her a dirty look.

"– and I wasn't as tactful or understanding as she needed. Our friendship almost didn't survive the fallout." She presses her lips together. "It was my fault. Nearly all of it. I should have seen it coming, with her family the way it is, and the way she treated me in school."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"I was caught off-guard. Never in a million years would I have expected _Quinn Fabray_ to like _me_. Me, loud and obnoxious Rachel Berry. And we both had a bit to drink that night, and I had this thing with both Brody Weston and Cassie July – " She cuts herself off, and clears her throat. "Anyway. I broke her heart. She'd probably never been rejected before, and by the first woman she'd worked up the courage to come out to…" Rachel makes a face.

"Oh."

Her gaze slides from across the room to rest on Marley. "You're a lot like me, Marley. Which is why I think she tried not to let herself fall for you."

Marley rests her head in her hands. Rachel pats her elbow.

"My turn to ask a question?"

"I didn't know we were taking turns."

The older woman shrugs. "Then you don't mind if I ask?"

"Is it about Atlantic?" asks Marley dejectedly.

Rachel chuckles. "Yeah."

"Go ahead."

"Did you actually want the New York job?"

"It's not about wanting the job," says Marley reflexively. "It was a decision I made after weighing the pros and cons."

"Not answering the question."

"Yes, I did."

She sighs. "You're not going to like this, but I agree with Quinn on Atlantic. Because she's _right_ ," says Rachel loudly, cutting off the protest on Marley's lips. "She _is_ sending you on your way like she tried to do with me. Like she always does for the person she loves most in the world." With a last pat, she adds: "I think that's enough for one night, and one bottle of wine. Come on; we left Unique alone with all the booze."

"Yes, alright." She's in even less of a celebratory mood, but she follows Rachel anyway.

Unique has a glazed look in her eyes as she watches two women bicker onscreen. " _Real Housewives of New Jersey_?" Rachel says after a glance at the TV. "I love this show!"

"Oh, awesome!" Unique flaps her hand at her. "Come and explain this whole thing Danielle and Caroline have with each other."

Rachel does; but only after a quick glance at Marley, who nods.

On the pretence of pouring her more wine, Unique whispers, "You're telling me everything", and stares.

"Of course," replies Marley.

"Now."

"... Oh."

Grinning, Unique stands up and drags Marley to the bathroom. Rachel, halfway through a fresh bottle of wine, doesn't seem to notice. Once inside, Unique locks the door and practically pins her against the wall in her excitement. "Well?" she asks.

"Babe," says Marley, gently pushing at Unique's shoulder, "there's plenty of room in here."

She scoffs. "Talk."

"Rachel thinks Quinn was right."

"Quinn _is_ right."

Marley sighs. " _Et tu_ , Unique?"

"Sweetie. You know I love you, but…"

"But?"

"But you made the right choice, picking Atlantic." She slings an arm around Marley's shoulder. "Though you really didn't have to piss off most of the people around you in the process, _especially_ the one you're dating."

Marley tips her head, resting it against Unique's shoulder. "Thanks for the support."

"If you mean hard truths, then yeah." She hugs Marley. "I got your back."

"Do you think she'll forgive me before I…?" Marley trails off.

Unique stares at her. "Of _course_ she'll – Marl, that woman's crazy about you. You know that."

"Yeah. I do."

"Even though you were a teensy bit irrational." She holds up her finger and thumb, the tips a fraction apart. "Just a _teensy_."

Marley groans. "I appreciate the diplomacy, but I know I was completely off the rails."

"Happens to the best of us," replies Unique staunchly.

* * *

She hangs around outside Quinn's apartment block, sneakers scuffing the concrete pavement. She inhales sharply; Quinn's right, she _has_ been acting like a child. She had been fixated on the wrong part of their relationship.

"Figured I'd find you out here, getting ready to grovel," Santana calls.

Marley looks away, ashamed. "Yeah."

"Aww, you're no fun." Santana strides up to her. "Rachel called. Said this is where you'd be headed. You're embarrassingly mature for your age, y'know?"

"So I've been told."

"I hope she bites your head off." Santana gives her a look of such malicious glee, it sends a shiver down Marley's spine. "If she doesn't, I volunteer for the job."

She tries not to think of it. "Do you think she'll forgive me?" asks Marley tentatively.

Santana smiles mirthlessly. "Personally, I wouldn't. But Tubbers has gotten ridiculously soft over time. Though," she adds, her expression going flinty, "I'd love to see you try and apologise to her; that alone is punishment enough, I'm thinking."

"Oh."

"You know how I said a little something something, a while back, about deliberately hurting Q…?"

Marley tries not to let her fear show. "I remember."

"I just got done patching her up after last night with vodka. Right now, I'm seriously debating between letting Rachel have her way with you, or Snix. As in, who gets a go first." Santana's eyes narrow to slits. "You go in there, you fix everything you broke. _Capiche_?"

"Completely."

Santana shoots her a last intimidating look before stepping aside for Marley to pass.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Rainy Season_ by Mamamoo. Full notes for this chapter to be posted to this story's page on my Tumblr; hit me up at **yumi-michiyo**.


	9. Part Eight

**Author's Notes:** Long overdue, but I just want to thank _**gllover22** _and _ **images-in-words**_ for being extremely supportive of my writing. Kind reviews, generous praise... even joining me as I embark on this little rowboat of a rarepair away from the main Faberry ship. Thanks, guys.

The other major thing I wanted to note here is about the update schedule. Yes, I don't have the best reputation when it comes to multichapters; that's the main reason why nearly all my _Glee_ fics are oneshots. As with nearly every other writer on this site, I work faster with reviews. Currently, I have an update schedule of roughly a month and a half, to two months between chapters.

In the interim, I'm usually on Tumblr! The extended author's notes are there too; hit me up at **yumi-michiyo**.

* * *

 **Part Eight:** _Never found the deep end of our little ocean_

* * *

Marley waits outside the door. She feels like the princess from a Disney movie she watched with Brittany a couple of years ago, about princesses and snow and locked doors. It's already happened, come to think of it; Quinn behind locked doors (of her own making), Marley outside waiting for her to open up.

After a long long moment, she finally gathers her courage to knock; but before her knuckles can touch the wood of the door, it swings open.

"Marley," says Quinn. She leans against the door frame, arms around herself. Her eyes look red. "What are you doing here?"

She opens her mouth, and then closes it again when the words don't immediately come. "Can I… can we talk?"

"We're talking," points out Quinn in acid tones.

"Yeah. I just… I'm sorry." Marley winces at the words that come out of her mouth.

"Sorry? For what?"

Marley winces again. She's seen Quinn hurt and angry before, certainly, but it's never been directed at her. "For a lot of things." She shifts her weight from one foot to another. It hasn't been lost on her that Quinn hasn't asked her to come in. "For accusing you of pushing people away. Of saying that you don't care – because you _do_. I – "

" – good that you know," interrupts Quinn.

"Y-yeah. And I was being dumb about the entire thing, but it's _Los Angeles_. It's the other end of the country, and I'm scared. I guess I must've taken it out on you." Quinn's expression doesn't change, but she doesn't slam the door in Marley's face, or tell her to shut up. She supposes it's as good a sign as any. "I, uhm… I accepted Atlantic's offer."

"Okay? And you want a medal for that?"

Marley grits her teeth, feeling alarmingly close to tears. "Quinn, I hurt you. I know I could have avoided all of this just by being a little less stupid about you trying to be supportive. You were right from the beginning; I know that now." She takes a few deep breaths. "I just wanted to tell you that. I'm sorry I hurt you. That's all I wanted to say."

Quinn doesn't move. "Are you done?"

"I leave for LA next Thursday." She adjusts her bag strap. "I don't want to leave us like this, Quinn." Standing there, fingernails digging into the material of the strap, Marley has never felt this emotionally vulnerable – not even when she was kneeling, alone and scared, in front of a toilet bowl.

She sees Quinn purse her lips a fraction. "I'll call you," says Quinn at last. "Good night, Marley." And she clicks the door shut.

Marley knows better than to pressure a cornered Quinn, and so she leaves. The cold night air is refreshing on heated skin.

"Didn't go that well, huh?"

Marley shrieks.

Santana hastily steps forward, hands raised. "Whoa! God, Rosie, it's just me. Jumpy, ain't you? Too much coffee this morning?"

She feels like her chest is constricting. "It's New York, Santana," she gasps, rubbing her chest. "Don't _do_ that."

"Wuss."

Once she gets over the shock, Marley manages a smile. "Thanks for waiting up for me, though."

"Pfeh. Rachel made me." Santana glances up at the apartment. "So, going home?"

"I guess." Marley blows out her bangs. "There's no point in me hanging around here like a creep. I need to give Quinn space."

"Yeah. Fair."

They fall into step, hands shoved into pockets. Marley tries not to think about everything she's got on her plate at the moment. A large part of her hopes that they'll make up before she has to go. She knows long-distance relationships, knows how hard they are – how badly she'll miss Quinn.

But at the same time, she'll always put Quinn's feelings before her own. She'll go to LA with the pieces of her heart in a pocket if that's all Quinn is capable of giving her.

From watching Rachel and Santana bicker, Marley's learnt that couple arguments always have two sides. This incidents proved that she knows nothing about being in a serious relationship, that her definition of trust is a lot more than sex.

Though – is that what she and Quinn are? A serious relationship? Marley's back to where she was two weeks ago; a naive child not ready for love. The way Quinn loves her – cares about her – is how a mature adult loves. In comparison, she's throwing an unhealthy amount of effort into her heart and not her head, into a relationship not even six months old.

Santana clears her throat. "This is your stop," she says, nodding at the subway entrance.

Marley blinks in surprise. "Oh."

Before she can say her goodbyes, Santana steps in front of her. "Hey, listen… I don't do a lot of talking about feelings, but if you ever need someone to talk to, and it's when Rachel makes you want to crawl out of your skin…" She gives Marley a quick smile. "Give Auntie 'Tana a call, okay?"

"Santana." The gesture takes her breath away, quite literally; she stares, stunned, until she remembers to breathe. "I… that means a lot to me, more than you might think it does."

"I don't doubt that," replies Santana gruffly. She poses stiffly with her hands out and elbows close to her sides. "If you must. Make it quick."

"Huh?"

"This is the bit where people hug," says Santana, wearing an expression that suggests she'd rather be swallowing poison, "so let's get it over and done with."

Marley smiles, shaking her head. "I don't… Santana, I'm really, really touched that you even offered, but I'm good. Honestly. Thank you."

She drops her arms, shoving her hands back into her pockets. "Thank god for that."

* * *

Oscar throws up his hands when she approaches him towards the end of her shift. Despite the cloud of misery she's been existing in over the past few days, Marley manages a chuckle for her boss.

"You are leaving us!" exclaims the manager. "Again!"

"For good this time," she says, holding out the sealed envelope. "I'm moving to Los Angeles."

"Whatever for? Is it the celebrity chefs? Are you investing in their wafer food?" Oscar shudders dramatically. "It cannot be that you think their food is better?"

"It's not the food, don't worry. It's… a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity came up, and I have to take it."

He makes an 'ohh' sound and nods. "You should have said so earlier. I know those; mine came when I was a young man in the big city for the first time, and now you see? I am still here." He pats the shiny _Manager_ tie clip and beams. "You go find your life calling now."

"Not immediately. C'mon, Oscar, you know me better than that," says Marley, "my flight's next Thursday, and that resignation's effective next Monday. I've gotta train up the next generation."

"Best of luck with that," mutters Oscar darkly. "Do you see how that new boy and girl work?"

"We have a few new workers. Who do you mean?"

"That one." He points at a blonde boy wiping down tables. "That one." His hand waves at another boy wiping cutlery. "All of them. I don't remember names so good now, they always come and go like inside a revolving door."

Marley sighs. "I'll do my best."

"And that's all I need." He pats her shoulder. "Don't forget to take your dinner."

"Actually…" Gavin's out, and Stan has a date. If she goes home now, she'll end up eating out of the bag while watching _Bones_ and drinking whatever stuff she can grab from the fridge. "I think I'll eat it before I go." Plus, with her current mood and lack of witnesses, there's a good chance she'll end up not eating at all, and her disorder is the last thing she needs to be dealing with right now.

"Fine, fine. Go on back before my customers think I will serve them meals out of plastic plates." Oscar shoos her back into the kitchen.

Dan grins at her as she comes in. "Leaving already, girl?"

"Nope. I'm having dinner with you tonight."

"Well, fancy that." He washes his hands, and pats them dry on the dish towel he keeps hanging on his apron. "It's my lucky night. But I gotta put you to work before we can have our date. We're a little short-staffed tonight 'cause Allen called in sick."

"Anything's good." She's already reaching for her favourite apron. "What do you need done?"

"I have a sack of potatoes over there that need to be prepped for tonight's _gratin dauphinois_ special."

"Yes, chef."

He chuckles. "Aww, I just love hearing you say that. What say me and you, we leave Oscar and open up our own bistro downtown? Me in the kitchen, you working all the important stuff I don't know how to do? Maybe bring in your ol' mom, make a family business out of it." Dan expertly flips the fillet of halibut he's searing in a pan. "Sound good, or good?"

"Dan…" Marley lobs a peeled potato into the basin with a sigh. "I handed my resignation to Oscar earlier. For good this time. I've been offered a job in Los Angeles, and I'm taking it."

"Oh." He slides the fish onto a plate. There's silence as he drizzles lemon butter sauce over it, and completes the plating. Only when the plate's been handed to a server does Dan turn back to Marley. "That's a good thing, girl. Congrats."

"Thanks."

"But, why are you so sad?"

"I… " Marley heaves another deep sigh. "I was stupid about it. My girlfriend, she… she wanted me to take the job because it was a fantastic opportunity for me, and I accused her of pushing me away."

Dan tuts.

"I know. It was all my fault; I was completely out of line about it. She asked for space; combined with the fact I'll be moving out of town indefinitely, I don't blame her if she wants to break up with me." Tears prick at her eyes.

"Yeah, you screwed up. That's it." Dan tears his eyes from Marley to take the order chit from a waiter. They work in silence for a few minutes until he says: "Hey, Rosie? Your girl sounds like a good one, if she's willing to support you moving out of town."

"She really is."

"She the first girl you dated? I mean, not trying to be nosey and all, but I wanna get the big picture first."

"I've had boyfriends before. Quinn's the first girl I've dated."

Dan selects a cut of chicken from the fridge and places it on the grill. "Anything different from your other relationships? Apart from the whole… _girl thing_ , of course."

"Of course," says Marley, another smile coming unbidden. She likes how Dan (and Oscar, in his own way) always manage to put her at ease. "Quinn, she… before her, I'd never felt about a girl that way. Even then, she's been my best friend for years before we got together."

"There're like a million of those in movies," says Dan. He takes the chicken off the grill and plates it. "'Cept, they're mostly guy and girl best friends. Nothing new." A helping of roasted vegetables go onto the plate. "You two been together long?"

Marley shakes her head. "It'll be six months at the end of September – that is, if she doesn't break up with me first." She finishes the last of the potatoes, and moves over to the sink to fetch a cutting board and knife.

"Not that long, then." He finishes off the dish and sends it off. "Y'know, if you're starting a new job in a new city, you're gonna meet a lot of new people." Dan rinses his hands, patting them dry on his hips. His tone remains nonchalant. "Sounds like a pretty good time to make a clean break of it, then a fresh start."

She almost drops the knife in surprise. "…What?" She can't believe her ears.

"It's only been a few months, right? You said she was hurt bad, that she might break up with you. So why don't you make a clean break of it?"

She takes a deep breath, channeling her anger into the potato. Each slice is perfectly even; she's a professional, and she knows better than to waste food. Only when the work is done does Marley slam her knife down and whirl around to glare at him. "I can't believe you would say those things, Dan."

He meets her eyes calmly. "Marley." It's one of the rare times he calls her by her name and not some pet name, so she puts her anger on hold and pays attention. "I asked you what's different about you and Quinn compared to your other relationships, and it seems to me the answer is that you're willing to fight for it. Okay? That's important."

The prickly anger goes out of her, and Marley mutters: "Not really… she might not feel the same way."

"Rosie, all that matters is that one person isn't willing to give up." After a brief glance in her direction, Dan turns away to take another order chit. "Chin up, alright? It'll work out."

"How do you know?"

The sous chef laughs softly. "I don't, but I know _you_. Toughest little thing this side of Bowery."

"I thought that was your steak," Marley jokes weakly.

He snorts. "I'm letting you have that one because you need it, but cheap shot."

"... Thanks, Dan."

"Anytime."

* * *

With just a few days left before she has to go, there isn't much time for packing. Marley decides to take just the essentials with her. She'll ship the rest over eventually. Saturday morning finds her seated on her bedroom floor, surrounded by boxes. "That corner's for storage," instructs Marley, pointing, "and that's to ship."

Unique yawns. "Yeah." She takes a long draught from the Thermos flask in front of her.

"Gavin and Stan said they'll hang on to the room for a couple of months, but I don't wanna burden them any longer than I have to. Like, they've already found a tenant who'll take Andie's room; I'm sure they won't have a problem renting out this place."

"Mmmhmm."

"I'll transfer you money for the shipping costs. The place looked pretty big in the photos, but I'm not sure if it's really like that. Anyway, it's mostly gonna be books and bulky stuff; the apartment comes furnished."

"'Kay."

Marley arches an eyebrow. "We can get started now."

"Oh, good." Unique hops off the bed and starts sifting through Marley's wardrobe.

"Hey!"

"What?" A mustard-yellow blouse sails out of the closet, onto the box marked 'To Donate'. Marley snatches it up.

"I like that!"

"No," Unique tells her flatly. "I love you, and that's why you're not keeping that."

"'Nique, the only reason you're here is to help me pack, not to clean out my wardrobe."

She rolls her eyes and makes a show of sighing. " _Fine_. If you say so." Unique walks over to the pile meant for shipping and sits cross-legged, folding clothes and compressing them into the boxes.

Marley shakes her head, smiling faintly. She walks over to the bookshelf, taking book after book off. Her fingers trail down the spines – and pause over _Milk and Honey_. She bites her lip.

The book's been read enough times to have acquired a slight creasing of the covers, and there's a stain on the bottom pages from when she took it to their favourite coffee place. It was crowded, and Quinn finally managed to find a table; she'd put the book down without checking, and snatched it up a moment too late when she noticed the coffee stain.

She draws a breath; inhale, exhale. Marley crosses the room, hands the book to Unique, returns to the bookshelf.

Next comes two copies of _Perks of Being a Wallflower_ ; one new, the other battered, still bearing the stamp of the Lima Public Library. She picks up the battered copy first.

There'd been a book sale the day she and her mom had arrived in Lima for the first time. The library was clearing their warehouse, and they'd set out plenty of rickety tables outside with their books on display. She remembers her mom pulling the last twenty out of her purse and giving it to her, asking her to spend it as a 'welcome-to-town' gift.

Most of the books were meant for children, or were dry works of non-fiction. But she'd found a copy of _Perks of a Wallflower_ which was a surprise, given that it was relatively new. There was a large rip in the front page, and slight discolouration of the cover, but was brand-new otherwise, and only cost a dollar. Marley bought it, and gave the rest of the money back to her mom.

The newer copy wasn't the same edition. It was much less battered than the first – she'd had less time to read – but had sticky notes inside marking her favourite sections. The older copy had her favourite parts dog-eared, but she'd learned to take care of her books by then. Marley places her hand over the book, thinking back to a Saturday afternoon in Central Park.

Both copies go into the 'To Ship' box.

She needs a break. But Marley decides on one last book before she does.

 _Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore_ makes her frown. She didn't buy her copy – but then remembers this is Quinn's copy.

Quinn had bought it as part of her quest to finish her reading list. She remembers seeing Quinn reading it here and there, mostly when she wasn't reading manuscripts for work, or magazines for fun. Marley furrows her brow as she tries to remember why the book's on her shelf, comes up empty. The book goes onto her nightstand. "It's not mine," she says when she catches Unique looking. "I'll return it to Quinn later."

"Oh, honey." Unique rushes over to sweep Marley in a hug that has her gasping for air. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry? For what?" She makes a few cursory attempts to pry her best friend off, then goes limp with a melodramatic huff. Unique giggles. "We didn't break up."

"Doesn't stop you walking around with this miserable expression on your face like you did."

"I have a lot on my mind, okay… I'm gonna be moving to LA in a couple of days. New job, new life, new… _everything_."

"Don't remind me." Unique tightens her grip, and Marley makes little choking noises. "It seems like everytime I catch up to your city, you're going off somewhere else."

"But you're still my best friend."

"Duh. If I wasn't, I'd cut you." Unique releases her with one last squeeze.

Marley snorts. "Our dynamic is really one for the record books. The mood goes up and down like a yo-yo." She goes back to her things.

"S'fine," calls Unique, "as long as we love each other."

Marley shakes her head, smiling at her packing.

* * *

Marley puts her hands on her hips, surveying the almost-empty room. With the organizational capability of Rachel and Unique combined, the packing of Marley's life proceeded seamlessly until now – the night before she leaves – all she has left is a backpack and two suitcases.

"I'm gonna miss you."

She turns to see Gavin leaning against the door jamb, expression somber. "I'll miss you too," says Marley, crossing the room to give him a quick hug. "Keep posting your scandalous party photos on Instagram, okay, so I can live vicariously through them?"

"You kidding me? You're moving to _LA_ to work for a _record company. You'll_ be the one posting scandalous party photos of all the stars you'll be hanging out with."

She levels a look at him. "Do I really look like the partying sort to you?"

"Never too late to start," says Gavin brightly. "I'll remind Stan to drop you off tomorrow."

They're interrupted by a knock on the door. Gavin wrinkles his nose. "Were you expecting visitors? Because my delivery isn't supposed to be here until eight, Cassidy at nine, and Rahim's due at ten."

Marley rolls her eyes. "Packed schedule," she comments. "It's seven-thirty, maybe the food came early?"

"Mmm, maybe I will too if the delivery person's cute."

"Gross, Gavin!"

Gavin laughs at her and goes to answer the door; Marley returns her attention to packing the last of her clothes and toiletries.

"Uh, Marley?" Gavin calls from outside, in a tone of voice she's come to associate with things going wrong.

She sighs. "Yeah?" When she stands up and turns around, her breath catches in her throat when she sees Quinn standing in the doorway of her room.

"Hi," says Quinn.

"Hi. I…" Marley closes her mouth, and opens it again. "I thought I wouldn't get to see you before I leave."

"I thought about that too, and I realised that I didn't want that." Quinn takes a step forward. "I'm sorry I took this long."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," says Marley hurriedly. "I shouldn't have said those things in the first place."

"Can we both be sorry?"

"Sure." She takes a step forward, and another. They meet in the middle. Marley reaches out, palm grazing Quinn's cheek, and her fingers tremble. Quinn leans into her touch; it's all the reassurance Marley needs to bring her other hand up to gently bring Quinn's face to hers for a kiss. She pours as much love and relief and gratitude into it as she can as their lips meld together, heart pounding as Quinn reciprocates with almost as much fervour.

She leans her forehead against Quinn's, unable to stop the big dopey grin from spreading over her face. "I've missed you so much."

"Me too." Quinn pecks her lips, and pulls away to survey the room. "It's so empty."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

"Quinn, you needed your space. I totally get that. Don't worry about it, okay?" She tucks a lock of hair behind Quinn's ear. "You're here now. That's all that matters to me."

Quinn's eyes are shimmering when she looks back at Marley. "You just – I should've known you'd forgive me just like that."

"I could say the same for you," replies Marley quietly. "Anyway, it hardly matters because all I wanted was to see you before…" She trails off.

Quinn blows out a quiet breath. "I should've done this right from the start rather than let Santana and her vodka into my house."

"I got Rachel, Unique, and wine."

"Sounds like I got off easy."

She chuckles along with Quinn. By this point, her hands have dropped to curl loosely around Quinn's waist. Her thumb idly strokes along the base of her spine. Quinn's expression is pensive. In an attempt to lighten it, Marley kisses her cheek and the bridge of her nose (Quinn wrinkles it). Her fingers hook onto Quinn's. "You can help with this last bit," she says, gesturing at the suitcases, trying to lighten the mood. "I need to start folding the rest of my clothes."

"Okay."

She starts handing things to Quinn, who folds and tucks them into the case. They work in silence, only the occasional comment or shared memory on articles of clothing passing between them.

Marley sets another pile on the bed as Quinn closes the suitcase. "This one's full."

"Right. I've got a shirt or two left inside; lemme empty out the wardrobe before I get the other one." She turns back to the wardrobe – and pauses, inhaling slowly when hands slip around her middle, and a gentle pressure on her shoulder.

Marley straightens. She leans back, hands wrapping around Quinn's, melding their bodies together. "I hate this."

"I know." She feels lips on the side of her neck. "I hate that you're leaving, even though…"

"I know," she interrupts softly. "No regrets. Quinn, I… I'll understand if you want to break up." Marley feels the small intake of breath, and rushes to clarify: "Long-distance is hard; it's gonna be painful for the both of us."

It's something she's been dwelling on for weeks, the moment Atlantic made their offer. The terrible weight of her words hang in the air.

The hands on her waist pull insistently; she moves as they direct her so she's facing Quinn and her intense hazel eyes. "I don't want to break up," she says fiercely, and then uncertainty shows through. "... Do you?"

Hope flares in her chest. "No! I don't want – I would never. It would be like losing a part of me for good."

"Then we do long-distance." Quinn's fingertip traces Marley's face; her brow is furrowed, as though she's trying to memorise every inch. "Calls, emails, texts… we're both working now. We can afford the flights."

"It's gonna be hard. But," she says, more firmly, "we'll do it." Marley glances down at their joined hands. "I'm not ready to let you go just like that."

Quinn ducks her head, and Marley catches the smile there. "... You're impossible. You always know the right things to say, that make everything better."

"I do my best." She clears a space on the bed and sits down, motioning for Quinn to join her. "I still think that we could've had more time together if not for me being clueless."

Quinn shakes her head. "I don't blame you. It took me _years_ to accept the truth of what I felt for Rachel… what I feel for you. You were still with Alex, you'd never shown an interest in girls…"

"Honestly? I've always been open, but Kitty jumping me kinda put me off for a while."

Quinn laughs weakly. "How are we having this sort of conversation the night before you leave?"

"Very soon, conversations will be all we're having."

The gloomy thought sobers the mood immediately. Marley lets go, turning her attention back to her packing so Quinn won't see her cry. There's a taut silence in which Marley refuses to look up.

She forcefully pulls Marley back to her – Marley catches a glimpse of hazel eyes so intense they could _burn_ – and kisses her hard. Quinn's touch is no longer gentle, or loving. A whimper escapes Marley's parted lips; an opportunity Quinn seizes to deepen the kiss, and tangle her fingers into Marley's hair.

"Oh – "

She kisses back hard, almost desperately. They tumble onto the mattress. Clothes go everywhere. One of Quinn's hands have migrated to the exposed patch where her shirt's ridden up. Fingers tense. "Please," says Marley, and tugs hard so she can latch her lips on Quinn's neck; she's rewarded by a low moan, and the press of Quinn's body into hers.

A palm presses over her abdomen, skin to skin; the simmering arousal in her belly erupts. She gasps. Marley's driven by the desire to inflict as much as she's feeling, and her hands settle on Quinn's hips, fingers tugging her shirt up and away.

Quinn shakes her head. "No," she says, pulling away Marley's hands.

She whines – which gets cut off by a sharp intake of breath as that hand slides into the front of her panties and strokes her clit. The sound is swallowed by Quinn's mouth on hers. "Quiet," she breathes against Marley's lips, "you have to be quiet."

She nods, once. Her legs fall open, willing Quinn's hand to move faster, and she hooks her ankles around Quinn's calves for leverage.

One finger slips in. Marley hisses. "More." Her fingers find their grip somewhere, anywhere – she can't think about that now.

Another finger. She rocks against Quinn's hand. There isn't much room for it, even with the elastic waist of Marley's sweatpants. Marley moves her hips as much as she can to facilitate the movement she needs, breathing becoming laboured as she fast approaches her peak.

"Quinn… feels so good."

Quinn presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. It's almost gentle. She bucks her hips against Quinn's hand one final time, and lets the pleasure surge through her.

Above her, Quinn finally meets her eyes, and smiles sheepishly; she slides her hand from Marley's pants as discreetly as she can. Marley ignores it; she focuses on Quinn, tries to return the smile as much as she's able, and reaches up to hold Quinn's face. "I don't want to go," she mutters once she's regained the ability to talk.

"Marley…"

"I know I have to. I will. I'll be on that plane tomorrow, but… that doesn't mean I'm okay with leaving you." She scrunches up her face, willing the tears not to come. "I hate this."

"I know." Quinn supports herself on one elbow, hovering over Marley. The back of her hand trails down Marley's face from hairline to jaw; she catches the scent of herself on Quinn, and blushes.

They lock eyes. Marley pulls Quinn's face down to hers for a bruising kiss, releasing her almost immediately in favour of tugging upwards, getting her where Marley wants her to go.

"What are you…?" Quinn settles against the headboard, sitting up straight. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and her cheeks are flushed.

Marley kneels on the bed. She nudges Quinn's legs apart, crawling between, sitting up on her haunches. "Trust me," she says, and pulls her shirt over her head.

"Fuck," says Quinn when Marley reaches around herself to undo her bra. Quinn rarely swears around her, and Marley is rarely this bold; it gives her the confidence to continue.

Both her shirt and bra get discarded off the bed. Marley rises on her knees, putting both hands on Quinn's for balance as she leans forward. Quinn's head tips backward and her lips part as she anticipates the kiss.

Marley doesn't close the distance between their faces. She hovers; the tip of her tongue darts out, licking her lips; she watches Quinn's eyes follow the movement.

"You…"

"I had something else in mind." She smiles wickedly when Quinn visibly swallows hard.

"What did… oh." The sentence is lost in a ragged exhalation as Marley withdraws, ducking her head under Quinn's skirt. "Oh god."

She sucks at the skin of Quinn's inner thigh first, loving how damp it already is. Kiss after kiss is dotted up her leg, until the first lick through Quinn's ruined panties. Quinn curses luridly; it boosts Marley's confidence that she can do _this_. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of her panties, and Quinn obediently lifts her hips so Marley can slide them off. She swipes her tongue over Quinn's clit, wrapping her arms around Quinn's thighs to hold her steady.

There's a loud _thunk._ Marley glances up, startled.

Quinn lifts her head from the headboard, looking sheepish. "I'm fine. Don't stop," says Quinn urgently.

And she would laugh, except she's never seen her girlfriend like this; eyes dark and unfocused, hair mussed, lips red and moist. Quinn looks almost desperate with desire. Marley doesn't stop what she's doing, but she takes her own sweet time with it. Quinn lets out a muffled curse. She returns to Quinn's clit again, picking up where she left off. Marley pays close attention to each sound Quinn makes, using it as a guide to determine what her girlfriend likes.

Quinn's thighs start to quiver. Marley continues to lap at her, hands firm on her girlfriend as she comes hard.

Marley pulls herself up more comfortably. She presses a kiss to the inside of Quinn's left knee. "Are you okay?"

She receives a nod. "More than okay. That was... you're good at this."

Marley can't help but blush as she always does when they talk about sex. "I did some research online."

"That's... unexpected." It's hard to tell if Quinn's blushing too, given the heat in the room. "But really good."

"Mmm." Everything they've done is starting to catch up to her. Marley crawls next to Quinn, sprawling on the pillows. She puts her arms around Quinn's waist. "Come here."

A kiss is pressed to the top of her head, and then Quinn snuggles into her side properly so they're curled up in each other. The shoulder of Quinn's shirt gets pulled down; Marley's fingers start to trace patterns on the patch of exposed skin.

"Do you think they heard us?" Marley asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Maybe. Even if they had, I think they'd know to give us some space."

"Mmmhmm." She tips her head forward. Marley closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of Quinn's shampoo, arms tight around her girlfriend's waist. "I love you."

"I love you, too," replies Quinn softly. "So much it scares me."

* * *

She's never known time to drag on so slowly. Normally, she would've fallen asleep a long time ago, but the knowledge she'll be moving across the country away from this woman in her arms keeps her awake. Every second she spends asleep is a second she isn't appreciating Quinn's physical presence while she still can.

Quinn's probably dozed off some time ago. Marley thinks it's a good thing, so she won't be awake to judge her for being weird. They've shifted to lie down properly, still in each other's arms, and so she buries her face into Quinn's hair. "I'm going to miss you so much," she whispers.

* * *

The next thing she knows, gray daylight filters in the window. Someone's drawn the curtains – though it can't be Quinn, because her girlfriend is still asleep in her arms, in front of her.

Quinn's expression is smooth in sleep. Marley smiles to herself. The situation isn't new, but she could definitely get used to waking up to it every morning for the rest of her life. They're together, Quinn loves her, she's pretty sure she's in love with Quinn, she's leaving...

The smile falls from her lips.

It's early enough that they can afford to sleep in a little longer. She doesn't have much left to do, anyway; most of her things are packed up...

... apart from the clothes they knocked off the bed last night. She cringes to think of how crumpled they'll be, but at least she can iron out wrinkled clothing. Relationships are a lot more complicated.

* * *

Marley stands outside her gate. This is it.

She looks back at Quinn, who's standing behind her. The rest of her friends have disappeared to goodness knows where to give them some privacy.

"Go," says Quinn, smiling wide. "We'll see each other soon."

She nods and starts walking. Marley hesitates, just before the path bends, and turns back.

Quinn hasn't moved. She lifts her hand in a farewell gesture, and Marley returns it.

* * *

She can't even blame the job for how miserable she is. Her new boss has been thoroughly briefed on her performance as an intern; he practically shakes her hand off in his excitement when she walks into his office. Marley's put to shadow one of the senior producers on an up-and-coming talent (a guy with a guitar who speaks with a Midwestern twang even though he's from Florida), and it's hinted that she'll be taking over the project completely sooner or later.

Midway through her first week in LA, she gets asked out to dinner by Finn Hudson – in typical Finn Hudson fashion.

"I, uh, heard you were in town," he says as soon as she picks up the phone. "Hey, so – do you wanna grab dinner or something, this week?"

She blinks in surprise. "Uh, sure?"

"Oh, awesome. Is today too last minute?"

Up until this moment, Marley's dinner plans involved persuading herself to buy a sandwich on her way home. "Today is good for me."

"I get out at six today. Where exactly do you work?"

"Just off Hollywood Boulevard. Atlantic Records."

"Sweet, I know the place," he says without a hint of astonishment. "Then – meet you downstairs of your building at seven? That okay, or is it too late?"

"That's fine," says Marley. Being the new hire, she's absolutely swamped with work and she anticipates that's the earliest time she'll be able to leave. "I'll see you at seven."

* * *

When she exits the lobby at two minutes after seven, the first thing she spots is the unmistakable figure of Finn; standing slightly slouched, with his hands in his pockets. The only difference from the last time she saw him is that he's wearing baggy jeans, and a navy T-shirt that says LAFD over the left breast.

He lights up when he spots Marley. "Hey!" says Finn excitedly, coming over to kiss her cheek. "It's been a while. How're you doing?"

"Good," she summarizes, squeezing him in a hug. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Yeah, likewise." He stoops to pick up a duffel bag. "Let's go. I'm starving, how about you?"

"Famished." Her appetite has been sparse these days, but she eats; the thought of Quinn and what she would do to her if she knew she hasn't been eating is a major motivation. Seeing someone familiar causes a pleasant warmth in her stomach, though.

"Cool." He hops into a open-top convertible and motions for her to follow suit. "It's not far, but I wanna take you around the city and back. I'll bring you back here to get your car later."

"Sure. Nice car, by the way," says Marley, running her hand over the smooth upholstery.

"Yeah? Britt thinks so too." Finn pulls out of his lot and onto the road, driving with both hands on the wheel. "She picked out the colour."

"That explains why it's pink."

"She said it reminds her of cotton candy and unicorns, and it'll remind me of her when she's out of town." Finn cruises down the famous boulevard lined with palm trees. "So for dinner, there's this place that serves amazing diner food. Sound okay?"

"Sounds great."

* * *

Finn is clearly a regular; the waitress motions him to a corner booth, and brings him a chocolate milkshake without needing to ask. "And a menu for your friend," she says, handing it to Marley.

"Thanks, Loretta."

"What'll you have today, Hudson? Pancakes? Surf n' turf? We got specials on club sandwiches and cheeseburgers."

"Cheeseburger sounds good. Make mine a double with bacon, and extra fries on the side."

Marley hands her menu back. "I'll have the roast beef club, and… a chocolate milkshake, please." Her free hand fidgets in her lap as she fervently hopes no one notices the pause.

"Sure, sweetheart," says the waitress, not batting an eyelash. "Be right back with that shake."

"Thanks, Loretta." Finn turns his attention to his milkshake, taking a slurp. He lets out a contented 'ahh', and grins at her over the top of his shake. She only spent a maximum of ten minutes with him in Lima, but it's clear to see that the years have passed him by; his boyish grin and exuberance remains unchanged. Even his worn attire and five-o-clock shadow do nothing to make him look any more mature than the nineteen-year-old she remembers. "They have the best milkshakes in town. You'll love it," he stage-whispers, making Marley laugh.

"Can't wait." And she really can't; the smells around her are whetting her appetite, and she pushes down her nausea with practiced ease.

"So… Atlantic, huh?"

"Yeah. I went for an internship last year and applied back for a permanent job after graduating. The New York office was full but they offered me a place here."

"You must be really good. I had to Google Atlantic Records after you told me the place this afternoon, and I was seriously amazed. Like, The Rolling Stones! AC/DC!" Finn's eyes suddenly go wide. "Do you see them around?"

"What? No! I mean – I'm still a junior producer, so they don't let me near the big artists, y'know." She tries not to smile at Finn's expression. "If I ever see them, though, I promise I'll get you an autograph."

"Cool. Thanks, Marley. You're the best."

The clicking of heels announces Loretta's return. "Here's your milkshake, honey," she says, setting the tall glass in front of Marley.

Under the watchful eye of both Finn and Loretta, she takes a sip from the straw. The shake is thick and rich – made with plenty of good-quality milk and syrup and ice cream – and Marley immediately makes a note to bring her mom here when she visits. "Mmmm. This is the best milkshake I've ever had."

Finn beams. "Told you." He stands his straw upright in the shake. "Look at that "

She tries very hard not to think about the number of calories she's ingesting. "They take a lot of pride in their food, don't they?"

"Uh-huh. Which is awesome, because I get to enjoy it." He glances at the counter, and adds in a conspiratorial tone: "It's so good that most of the time, I don't even last until my food comes. Then I have to order another shake."

"Well, I'm sure you can afford the calories."

"Not according to Britt. She says I've gotten jigglier around the middle. Just because dancing burns way more than firefighting, because she eats just as much as I do."

Her eyes go to Finn's middle involuntarily. "She's still a touring backup dancer?"

"Yep. She teaches when she's not on tour. She's still on Taylor Swift's current tour; that's why she couldn't make it tonight."

"That's really impressive."

"Yeah, but so many of us Glee clubbers are doing pretty good. You with Atlantic, and Rachel's killing it on Broadway." He pauses to take a sip of milkshake. "Is she still in _Aladdin_?"

"Yep. She got to go on as Jasmine once, even, after the actress called in sick."

Finn laughs. "Did she make plans for keeping her that way?"

"Of course – then she felt bad about it, and sent her a pack of herbal teas."

"She hasn't changed a bit," he smiles, shaking his head.

Marley feels a bit uncomfortable. She's only ever spoken to Finn about Glee stuff, never about their personal lives. It complicates things now that she's fairly close to his circle of friends – more specifically, ex-girlfriends. Especially since his girlfriend is her girlfriend's friend's ex-girlfriend, and –

She stops thinking about it when their food arrives, saving the day. "That's a lot of food," notes Marley nervously, looking at the small mountain of fries beside her sandwich.

"I'll help you eat whatever you don't want," offers Finn immediately. His extra fries are in a basket beside the mountain on his plate. Finn tucks into his double cheeseburger with a ferocity that makes Marley wonder aloud if he's part snake to unhinge his jaw like that, which makes him snort.

The sandwich is good; almost as good as Defonte's, and – she _really_ needs to stop thinking about Quinn. She shakes her head, smiling at herself.

Finn misinterprets. "Good, huh?"

"It's really awesome."

"Cool."

They make small talk exchanging updates about Glee clubbers they both know. She manages half of everything before passing her plate to an excited Finn.

"I got the bill," he insists, pulling his wallet from his pocket. "Think of it like a welcome to town meal."

"Thanks, Finn."

* * *

The cool night air greets her when they go back outside. "Still up for that drive?" he asks, turning his key in the ignition.

"Actually, yeah. I don't think I'll be able to walk for a while."

"You'll get used to it. Loretta's always generous with the portions." The lights of the city start to come alive as he drives. "I know you only just got here, but how's everything? Is the city treating you alright?"

"I guess." Marley shakes out her hair, enjoying the sensation of the wind. "Honestly, I've been trying to keep busy."

"It's always hard, being in a new place on your own." The car slows to a stop at an intersection. "I know exactly how that feels." Finn drapes both hands on the steering wheel. "I mean, I didn't ask you out tonight because I felt sorry for you, but…"

"But you asked me out tonight because you totally felt sorry for me?" she smiles.

He chuckles self-consciously. "I guess. Still no good at outsmarting girls."

"It helps that you're about as transparent as a window."

Finn groans. "It's that bad?"

"It is."

"Ugh." They drive along the freeway; Marley catches a glimpse of the Hollywood sign. "Hey, if you're not too tired, do you wanna get a drink? There's this great little place Britt and I always go, and it's not that far from here. What do you say?"

Marley smiles. "I don't really drink, but I guess… I could go for a drink."

"Sweet." He takes the next exit.

* * *

The bar is really more of a jazz club, but it's cosy and the drinks are delicious. Marley makes her cranberry vodka last. "Thanks for everything, Finn," she says. "I had a great time tonight."

"No worries. I definitely enjoyed the company. Like – we didn't really talk that much when I was coaching Glee, and we didn't get a chance to catch up after that." He sips his beer. "It's really good to have some familiar faces in town, y'know."

"Yeah." The pianist onstage launches into a solo piece. "Everything's going great with you and Brittany?"

Finn's face splits into a huge grin. "Oh, yeah. She's really great. I mean… sometimes I wake up and I can't believe it's me and her, after everything we went through in high school."

Marley lets out a snort despite her best efforts. "Trust me, I know _exactly_ how that feels."

"Yeah. And you." He gestures in her direction. "You're like, friends with all my exes. My exes are dating each other. _You're_ dating my ex. It's like some really weird sitcom." Finn knocks back his drink.

"Believe me when I say I have no idea how it happened."

Finn smiles. "I'll drink to that." They clink glasses, and he signals the bartender for another beer. "You're good for Quinn, y'know."

She dares not comment.

"I barged in on her and Britt's coffee thing because I was worried about her. Mrs Fabray is hella intimidating, and I don't think Quinn ever forgave me for outing her pregnancy to her parents through song. Anyway," he continues, going a little pink, "even though she was sad as hell because of everything that went down between her and her mom, talking about you really made her happy. _You_ make her happy."

"She makes me happy, too."

"She's a good person. I was an immature asshole in high school, and I wasn't the best boyfriend to Quinn. But she's a good friend, and I'm glad she's found someone who treats her right. She deserves to be happy and all."

"Thanks for saying that, Finn." Marley pats his elbow. "Immature asshole or not… you're a pretty great guy now. And I'm not saying that because you took me out for dinner."

He chuckles.

"Seriously, though… I'm glad we're friends."

"I'll drink to that," he says, tapping his beer bottle to Marley's glass.

* * *

As soon as she's able, she takes advantage of a long weekend and tacks on a day's leave for good measure. Marley flies out to Columbus.

Doctor C seems glad to see her. "I presumed your new job would mean that you'd be switching therapists to one based in LA," says the therapist, eyes crinkling into a smile.

"Nah," says Marley warmly. "I can't imagine confiding in anyone else but you. Good thing our sessions are annual."

"I appreciate your confidence in me." The therapist inclines her head. "By the way, congratulations; it sounds like it's the perfect job for you."

"It _is_ the perfect job." Marley's good at what she does, to the point that she's handling as much work as senior colleagues. She gets to work with interesting and talented musicians, she's met new people with whom she can geek out about the finer aspects of her profession… in her spare time, she's even dabbling in songwriting. All this, she relates to Doctor C, who nods at all the right parts.

"... I get the feeling that you want to say something," says Marley when she's done.

Doctor C shrugs. "Not at all."

"Really?"

The therapist holds up both hands, palms up. "Marley, our sessions are all about you," she says. "I won't offer anything unsolicited unless I feel that it would benefit you."

"Oh."

"That goes for your personal life as well," adds Doctor C, smiling faintly.

She colours crimson. "I, uh, oh."

"We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to," says the older woman.

Marley stares down at her hands, which are resting on her knees. She continues to stare as they tighten into fists and her knuckles turn white.

"Marley?"

"I do want to," she says at last. "I need… I don't know where to start. About Quinn and me. There's been a lot going on, and we… long story short, we're in a long-distance relationship now."

"And how do you feel about that?"

She exhales. "Conflicted. I didn't want to go. But, rationally, it was the best move. It was the _only_ move."

"Conflicts between head and heart are normal," says Doctor C serenely.

"Yes, but – I can't help but feel like I'm leaving at a very complicated time. Like – I don't know where I stand, how serious this is, what exactly we are to each other…" Marley throws up her hands. "I don't wanna – it took her this long to open up to me. I don't wanna lose that."

Doctor C is silent. "Yes, I agree relationships are complicated – especially this one, given what I've heard about Quinn – but I'm here about you." She leans forward, steepling her fingers. "My purpose here is to help you with your personal recovery process; which I feel is going wonderfully."

Here Marley manages a smile. "You just like the idea of me and Finn being friends."

"If that young man can convince you to consume half your daily recommended caloric intake in a sitting, I would encourage you to marry him." The therapist smiles briefly on seeing the expression on Marley's face. "Just kidding."

"The only insight I can offer you is personal," continues the older woman. "Long-distance relationships are completely different from regular ones, and require a different approach; mainly because true intimacy is nearly impossible to achieve, even though it is more important than ever."

"So… you're saying that I have to reevaluate my priorities in this relationship to sustain it."

"Something like that." Doctor C slides a bowl of hard candy over her desk towards Marley. "Be with her when you can be. Do you know what I mean?"

Marley nods slowly. "I… think I do."

Doctor C hesitates, and then reaches over to pat Marley's hand. "How often do you talk? Texts, calls, emails?"

"Almost every day." Marley ducks her head sheepishly.

"For what it's worth? I think you're doing fine."

* * *

Marley slides her headphones onto her shoulders. "Okay, Trent, that was good."

The man inside gives her a thumbs up.

"So all we got left to do is a retake of your single before we call it a day. Sound good?"

Trent nods. "Sure thang, boss lady," he drawls.

Marley laughs. "I know you're supposed to be the next Blake Shelton and all, but it's just you and me, bud, and we both know you're from Florida." She checks the soundboard. "I just need to record your vocals, and then you let me take over."

"Oh, I'd let you take over anytime."

Trent's persona has always reminded her of Puck, but she tries not to let it bother her; Puck is Puck, and Trent is the sweet up-and-coming country music star whose debut album is her baby. She starts up the backing track and cues him in.

As he launches into the song, she smiles at the lyrics. Trent is undeniably gifted, born to be playing his guitar and sing about long winding lanes and the girl he left back home – even if he _is_ from Florida – and has the potential to be one of the best songwriters in the industry. But he was stuck on a melody, and it was Marley who helped him turn it into a song.

As the outro of the song plays, she cuts the recording and motions for him to take off his headphones and come out of the booth. "Good job, Trent," says Marley.

"Naw. It was all you." He takes the vacant leather chair beside her as she replays the recording.

At the end, Marley nods. "I guess that's a wrap. We'll call it a day." She's halfway out of her chair when he catches her hand.

"So, uh," he starts with an awkwardness that's achingly familiar, "I was wondering if you'd want to go out for coffee sometime."

"Trent…"

"Like, not now. Even I can see you're in a mighty hurry to go somewhere – with someone special, if the look in your eyes anything to go by – but I just had to ask. Put myself out there."

Marley sighs. She glances down at their joined hands. "I…"

He lets go. "No, it's okay. You're a sweet girl, Marley." Trent grins at her. "I really appreciate you trying to let me down as gently as possible. He must really be something, yeah?"

"She," says Marley softly. "Her name's Quinn." She holds her breath and waits.

" _She_ must be really something," corrects Trent. "I had a girlfriend back home – LaBelle. Tiny town, middle of nowhere. I left town because I believed in all this – " he gives a careless wave of his hand, "– and she stayed. Broke up with me right before I got on that Greyhound."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Don't be. More material for songs. You know how it is, with us musical people. Right up there with John Mayer and Taylor Swift." He grins abruptly. "No hard feelings, Marley?"

"None whatsoever."

* * *

She's at least half an hour early, but she doesn't care. The scheduled flight arrival time can't come fast enough, and she's excited beyond belief. This is the first time Quinn's visiting LA, and she's looking forward to enjoying every minute of the time with her.

Marley finds a good spot outside the arrivals gate and sits down, phone out. She planned to go through her emails while waiting; there are a few she hasn't gotten round to replying yet, all because she's been holed up in the studio with Trent. But every minute or so, Marley's eyes stray to the gate.

The announcements board refreshes. Marley interrupts her email-writing for the seventh time (she's stuck somewhere around 'Dear Sir') and grins when she notices the flight status for AA 117 from JFK has switched to landed. She saves her draft and shoves the phone into her pocket, getting up to hover close to the gate –

– and jumps a little when it chimes. She fumbles the phone back out of her pocket.

 **Just landed. Can't wait to see u**

 _me too im waiting oustide e baggage carousel_

Marley's finger itches to call Quinn, but she successfully quashes the impulse, and stashes away her phone. She keeps her eyes fixed on the corner from where she knows the terminals connect to.

It was difficult enough stealing time for each other when she was a student and Quinn was working; it got a little easier when she was working the full-time stint at the restaurant because shift work complemented Quinn's working hours. But long weekends didn't really justify the twelve-hour round-trip either of them would have to make.

There were other methods of communication, of course. She texted daily, even if it was as simple as sending a cute animal picture or something amusing about her day. They had weekly Skype calls, and the occasional phone call to check in that always turned into a few hours; that had been an expensive affair.

But it all paled in comparison to this; finally seeing Quinn in person, being able to spend time with her. Nearly three months after she'd left, Quinn had been able to scrape together enough leave to fly out and visit.

She snaps out of her thoughts when a steady stream of people appear around the corner. Marley waits patiently, heart pounding wildly with anticipation. There are a few false alarms; varying shades of blonde, a coat similar to Quinn's, young women of similar build.

And everything stops when she spots Quinn.

It takes Marley every fibre of her being not to rush through the gates and throw her arms around Quinn – especially when Quinn, searching the crowd, meets her eyes, and a dazzling smile spreads across her face.

And so Marley grips onto the shoulder strap of her battered messenger bag, willing herself to stand still until Quinn collects a small rolling suitcase from the baggage carousel and walks out of the gate.

Marley doesn't remember starting to walk. All she sees is Quinn, smiling brighter than the sun, and she is Icarus. Marley dashes the last few feet separating them, and flings herself forward, trusting Quinn will catch her.

She does.

Warm, strong arms hold her tightly. She buries her face into soft blonde hair, letting herself be surrounded by Quinn. Marley can't speak around the lump in her throat. When she's certain it's not a dream, she releases her hold slightly.

"You're crying."

Marley laughs, ignoring the prickling at her eyes. "Maybe a little." She strokes the side of Quinn's face. "So are you."

"Nonsense."

Quinn's eyes aren't red, but her lips taste of salt and everything she's been dreaming of.

* * *

When they've both calmed down a bit, Marley immediately grabs Quinn's suitcase and leads the way to the car. "I'm so happy you're here," she says, unlocking the boot and putting the case inside.

"Me too."

"Are you hungry?"

Quinn looks sheepish. "A little. I had something on the flight, though…"

"It was a long flight, though." Marley starts the car. "I know the perfect spot."

* * *

Quinn looks completely enthralled as they walk into the diner; Marley bites back her amused smile.

"Oh, hey, it's Hudson's buddy!" Loretta holds out menus, smiling warmly at them. "And you brought a buddy of your own."

"Hey, Loretta. Quinn's visiting from New York."

"A friend from back home. Gotcha." She leads the way to a booth and sets the menus down. "Holler when you're ready."

Once the waitress leaves, Quinn turns to her with wide eyes. "When she said 'Hudson', did she mean _Finn_ Hudson?"

"Yeah. He and Brittany are regulars here; Finn brought me here for dinner when he heard I was in town."

Quinn blows out her bangs. "Small town."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? What for?" Quinn's expression changes as understanding dawns. "Oh – no, Marley. I didn't mean that you shouldn't have brought it up, or that you shouldn't be friends with them… it was just a surprise, that's all. I haven't spoken to Finn in a while." Her eyes crinkle in a rueful smile. "We didn't do much talking in Lima."

"Oh." She'd gathered as much, but the most pervasive memory of that night will always be Quinn – dark-eyed, smiling wickedly – hovering over her. Marley flushes.

Quinn clears her throat. A dusting of colour decorates her cheeks, presumably from the same memory. "... You know what I mean. Anyway… " She pauses. "I think it'll be nice if I could catch up with them while I'm here."

"Yeah, I think so too."

Loretta walks over. "Ready to order, honeys?'

"Uh…" Marley gives her an embarrassed smile. "Five more minutes?"

"Take yer time." She goes to another table, pulling out her order pad.

Quinn mirrors Marley's sheepishness as she reaches for her menu. "So… what's good?"

"The milkshakes," says Marley immediately. "They're thick enough you can stand a straw in them, and they taste fantastic. I usually have one every time I'm here."

Quinn's expression softens suddenly. "That's good," she murmurs. Her hand comes up to cup Marley's cheek, thumb stroking her cheekbone. "I was worried you weren't eating."

Even though she's uncomfortable with the unexpected mention of her diet, Marley meets Quinn's eyes. "I didn't want you to worry."

They place their orders quickly. Two milkshakes soon arrive; a chocolate one for Marley and strawberry for Quinn. Marley bursts out laughing when she sees Quinn's milkshake.

"What?" Quinn asks, peering at the glass skeptically.

"Nothing, just… the colour is exactly the same as the shade of pink you dyed your hair in your senior year."

Quinn scrunches up her nose, but laughs as well. "Wow. Now there's a memory I don't mind forgetting."

"Really? You owned that look, though. I was equal parts terrified and awestruck every time you stalked down the corridors."

"Awestruck, huh?" There's a wickedness to Quinn's smile that makes Marley squirm in her seat, and wish they weren't in public. "Even back then?"

"Of course. Quinn, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met." It's something she has said multiple times, and Quinn always has the same reaction; she looks away, and darts a quick look back as though embarrassed to acknowledge it, a faint smile on her lips.

Today, though, Quinn meets her gaze straight on. Her hazel eyes sparkle with warmth. "I'm glad you think so," says Quinn, interlinking her fingers with Marley's, resting their joined hands on the table. "God, I've missed you."

The moment is interrupted when Loretta comes back, balancing two plates. "That's a breakfast special for you, sweetie," she puts a plate in front of Marley, "and the bacon cheeseburger." Loretta wipes her hands on her apron. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, Loretta."

Quinn stares at Marley's food, looking amused. "Breakfast for dinner?"

Marley shrugs. "The best diner experience." She uses her knife to spread her butter pat over her pancakes to melt it. "Yours looks good."

"Going out with Rachel means i get guilted into going meatless." She pops a fry in her mouth. "This is kind of a guilty pleasure thing. It's been years since I had a cheeseburger – especially one this generous."

Marley grins at her. "I know, right?" She takes a mouthful of pancakes and chews.

Quinn starts laughing. "You should see your face. You look exactly like a little kid now." She grabs a paper napkin and dabs at the syrup smear on the corner of Marley's mouth.

"That makes you a pedophile, doesn't it?"

"I hope not. That would severely limit the things I wanted to do tonight." And she goes back to her food, but not without a last heated look that makes Marley's pulse quicken.

* * *

Marley made it a point not to give away too many details about her house in their conversation over dinner. The excitement she's been keeping under wraps is completely justified when she unlocks her door and steps aside to let Quinn in.

"Wow." She walks into the house, heels clicking on the wood flooring. "This is all yours?"

"Yep." Marley grins. "No roommates."

"Oh, good."

"Why?" she asks, already anticipating the answer.

Suddenly Quinn is too close, and Marley's breathing quickens. "So I can do this," says Quinn. Her voice sounds at least an octave lower than normal.

Entranced, she leans in to bridge the gap. Her lips roam the seam of Quinn's mouth, tongue tracing full lips. Marley's hands are already fumbling with Quinn's coat. Quinn shrugs it off without breaking the kiss.

She finds herself pinned against the door. Her hands slide up the back of Quinn's shirt, grabbing onto heated skin. Marley's taller, but Quinn's ankle boots put them at roughly the same height. She takes advantage of that now to curl her leg around Quinn's, thigh pressing into her centre.

Quinn moans. The sound sends liquid heat rushing through Marley.

"You were thinking of our first time at the diner," murmurs Quinn. She dips her head, nipping at Marley's neck; Marley moans and arches into her, completely forgetting what she was in the middle of doing.

"So were you."

She chuckles. Quinn undoes the top two buttons of Marley's shirt, tugging away her bra to kiss a hardened nipple. "I was thinking of doing this to you for months."

Marley's chest heaves.

Quinn continues to lavish attention on the sensitive bud, alternating teeth and tongue. The sensations are driving Marley wild, but all she can do is gasp and clutch at Quinn, trying to direct her mouth where she wants it.

"Are you gonna ravish me all week?"

"If you want." She presses her body up against Marley's to hold her in place against the door. One hand cups her other breast; Marley makes a choked noise.

"I want that. So much." The pressure in her centre is almost at boiling point. She cants her hips forward into Quinn's, trying desperately to relieve the tension. "Please, Quinn."

"Let me help you."

Quinn kisses down her chest, fingers making quick work of the top button of her pants. Marley whimpers when fingers brush her over-sensitive folds.

"Touch me."

"Here?"

She yelps when Quinn grazes her clit. "Yes. I need you to make me come."

Quinn kisses her. Her fingers start a rhythm that Marley's hips follow. Her head falls backwards with a thud against the door. "Don't stop."

"I won't. Come for me."

She does, hard. Quinn's name flows off her tongue like a prayer as her walls clench and pleasure rolls through her body like a wave. Stars blink behind closed eyelids with increasing desperation until she remembers that breathing is necessary.

Quinn laughs softly at her. "I've missed this, too," she says, leaning her forehead against Marley's. One of her arms comes to rest loosely around Marley's middle, the other behind Marley's head to cushion it from the door.

By this time, Marley's patience has run out. She draws closer. "I need to taste you," she whispers against Quinn's lips, and feels her shudder.

She leads Quinn into her kitchen and draws her closer; Quinn's front presses against the countertop. "I've had a lot of dreams about you," says Marley nonchalantly into Quinn's ear.

"You did?"

"Mmhmm." She rolls her neck on her shoulders, languid, before she bends her head. Her tongue darts out from between reddened lips and licks a delicate trail where Quinn's neck meets her shoulder. "Tasting you."

Quinn's head falls back, boneless. Marley cups her face so she can continue to kiss her neck. "Touching you," she says. Her hand, previously resting over Quinn's stomach, starts to slide upward, cupping a breast.

"Yes," says Quinn. Her body melds to Marley's, yielding to every movement.

Marley turns her around. Her fingers curl underneath Quinn's thighs, boosting her up onto the counter. "Finally taller," she says with a grin.

Quinn rolls her eyes at her. "Shut up."

She does – by kissing Quinn, humming contentedly as arms twine around her neck and fingers tangle in her hair. "Seriously though? I wanted you up here so I can do _this._ " Marley slides out of Quinn's arms, and lifts up her sweater to kiss her stomach.

"Oh god."

Marley works at her pants; Quinn obediently lifts her hips to help. "Mmm," says Marley, "I've waited too long." She wastes no time, putting her mouth on Quinn, parting her lower lips with her tongue.

It doesn't take too long before Quinn comes above her with a cry. Marley tries to keep the grin off her face when insistent hands pull her up; she wipes her mouth and chin with the back of her hand as she goes. "That was fast."

"I've been left hanging for a while," replies Quinn, eyes still unfocused. She kisses Marley briefly. "Now can we go to bed? This counter's hard and cold."

"You weren't complaining earlier."

"I also hadn't come in almost a month earlier."

Marley licks suddenly dry lips. "A month?"

Quinn shrugs. "Work was insane." She slides off the counter with as much dignity and grace she can muster – which in Marley's unbiased opinion, is still a lot – and pulls her panties back up from her ankles. "I wasn't in the mood."

"And are you now?" says Marley teasingly. She hooks a finger around one of Quinn's, leading her into her bedroom.

"Oh, definitely. I've got a few things I want to try."

Marley licks her lips again; this time with anticipation.

* * *

She feels a little bit insane for even thinking it, but she's a little surprised to find Quinn's still not a morning person. They've only been apart a couple of months so it's impossible that there would be any major changes like that, but Marley still feels like she'll wake up alone any time now to the sound of her phone alarm.

At least she isn't distracted enough to burn breakfast. Especially not the bacon; that would upset Quinn.

Breakfast, twice in a row. Before she got sick, Marley would have happily lived on pancakes and syrup alone. This seems like a luxury after last night…

She gnaws on her lower lip in an effort to rein in her silly grin. God, the things Quinn does to her – emotionally, _and_ physically.

Time and distance – nearly 3000 miles of it – apart has given her some perspective. Marley knows better than try and put a label on what they are, what they can and cannot do, and focus on the important parts.

Like how much in love she is, and that Quinn loves her. Everything else can wait.

Marley wonders if it's too much for her to go wake Quinn; it feels oddly intimate, even compared with everything they did last night. Alone together in _her_ house, with all the time in the world, it feels wonderfully domestic.

She makes up her mind and starts up the stove. Making breakfast takes a maximum of fifteen minutes (inclusive of the fancy plating she'd picked up from Dan), and soon she's heading into her bedroom, butt first to avoid the door slamming into their breakfast.

There's no sign of Quinn apart from tousled blonde hair near the head of the bed. She sets the tray onto the nightstand and ponders her options; playful, cute, sexy…

"Hey," says Marley. She sprawls over the blankets, behind Quinn, an arm on her shoulder.

"Mmph," says Quinn. She snuggles back into Marley, clearly not fully awake yet.

Marley tips her head forward to bury her nose in the crook of Quinn's shoulder. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the moment.

"I'm not awake," mutters Quinn.

She smiles. "I can tell. That's why I brought coffee."

"You brought coffee?"

"You can't smell it?"

Quinn grunts. "No. Sleeping." She turns her face further into her pillow, back now firmly to Marley.

Clearly, _cute_ or _playful_ weren't going to cut it. Marley climbs under the blanket and is pleased to find Quinn isn't wearing anything underneath it. She hooks her ankle around Quinn's while her palm rests on a taut stomach.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing much," hums Marley. "Go back to sleep." She rolls her hips up against Quinn even as her other arm snakes under Quinn's neck, trapping her.

"Seriously?" Quinn tries to roll over but is prevented from doing so by the arm Marley has around her shoulders.

"Seriously. Just _relax_." Marley pitches her voice low on the last word, and lifts her head to take Quinn's earlobe between her teeth, and tug.

"Tease." Whatever else Quinn thinks of Marley is lost when Marley starts kissing down the side of Quinn's neck. Quinn's pulse feels erratic under Marley's finger tips. Quinn groans and presses back, her head arching back, exposing more skin for Marley to worship. Which is what she does, with teeth and tongue and lips. Her hands, though, are a different story altogether. They settle on Quinn's hips, pulling their bodies together, and then a finger teases the junction of her legs.

Quinn spreads her legs, gasping as fingers play with her dampness. She rolls her hips into Marley's hand. "Three fingers. Inside."

Marley moans into Quinn's skin. The husky words make her thrust forward, seeking to sate the arousal that jolts her core. But nevertheless she complies, and enters Quinn; two fingers, and slipping another in as her body adjusts.

They move together, taking up a fluid rhythm rediscovered last night, until Quinn tightens around Marley's fingers, and the sensation tips her over the edge as well. Marley buries her face into Quinn's hair, breathing gradually evening out.

"What a way to wake up."

Marley grins. "Room service," she quips, easing her fingers out of Quinn – which is met with a delightful shudder – and tucking an arm over her girlfriend.

Quinn rolls over so they're nose-to-nose. "Service," she says flatly.

Marley can't help it. She bursts out laughing; shortly after, Quinn joins in.

When the laughter dies down, Marley kisses her nose, and sits up. "Okay. Bad jokes aside, I made us breakfast, and we should eat it before we shower and get dressed."

"What's the hurry? What do you have planned for today?"

Marley smiles. "You'll find out." She reaches over to grab the tray and ease it over the sheets; Quinn scrambles to sit up and snag a shirt off the bedroom floor. "I hope you're hungry."

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, I am. You _did_ make sure of that."

Marley chokes on her juice. "Quinn!" She bumps a laughing Quinn's elbow. "That was terrible."

"Mmm. You thought it was funny, though." Quinn takes a bite of egg and sighs happily. "I've missed this."

The banter is fun, easy; it's been awhile since she's felt this playful. "Not as much as you've missed me, I hope."

Quinn shrugs a shoulder. "What do you think?"

Marley crams eggs into her mouth. "Definitely the eggs," she says, and Quinn laughs.

"Joking aside, though, I think your cooking has gotten better."

"Don't tell my mom. She won't take it lying down." She scoops the rest of her eggs onto her toast. "Oh, by the way, don't worry about getting food on the sheets. I think I have to change them, anyway."

Quinn casts an amused glance sideways. "Okay. And that has nothing to do with me, huh?"

"Not in the slightest." She finishes up the last of her toast, brushing her hands together over the plate. "How's everyone?"

"Pretty good. Rachel was asked to workshop for a new musical – top secret, though. S's not too happy about it, because she got to know about the project from her ex-boyfriend."

Marley wrinkles her nose. "Do I know him? I mean – McKinley's Glee club _is_ fairly incestuous."

"I don't think so? His name is Jesse St. James, he went to Carmel High. He was with Vocal Adrenaline."

"Oh, _him_. I've heard of him; he was revered as some kind of god by the Vocal Adrenaline iteration we faced."

"That's the one," says Quinn, laughing. "Even though Rachel thinks it's a great opportunity, S doesn't trust him because he egged her before."

"What? But, she was vegan."

" _Especially_ because she was vegan. But you know how forgiving Rachel can be."

Marley nods. "You know… the more stories I hear about you guys, the more I wonder how come you all aren't more messed up. All of you should be in therapy, not me."

"Get Rachel drunk. You'll learn the true meaning of TMI." Quinn puts her fork down with a happy sigh. "Thanks for breakfast."

"You're very welcome. You want to shower first while I take these outside?"

"Are you kidding? You cooked, I'll wash." Quinn scrambles out of bed by the other side, snatching up the things before Marley can protest. "Not to mention you planned the rest of today, and you'll be driving to wherever that is."

"You're my guest!" laughs Marley.

"I'm your girlfriend."

"Guest girlfriend."

"You'd think you'd know not to argue with me by now." Quinn shoots her a last mock-glare over her shoulder. "Go shower," she calls.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Pool_ by Paramore _._


	10. Part Nine

**Author's Notes:** I wasn't kidding about reviews and comments fueling updates. I can be found on Tumblr at **yumi-michiyo**!

* * *

 **Part Nine:** _I need to make distance a while/But miles don't make your image fade_

* * *

"You still haven't told me where we're going."

Marley rolls to a halt at the red light and glances over at Quinn. She's resplendent in a white off-shoulder top and skirt, and Marley wonders how they even made it out of the house (and, to a lesser degree, where all these thoughts are coming from).

"Somewhere nice, I promise."

Quinn smiles. "Give me a hint?"

"Okay." The lights change; she takes a right on the next intersection. "It's a tourist destination."

She hears a groan from beside her. "Not the Hollywood sign?"

"Wait and see. We're almost there, anyway."

Quinn twists in her seat. "Really? But we've only been driving for a short while."

"It's touristy."

"How specific."

Marley laughs. "We're here."

"Here?"

"The Broad." She finds a vacant parking spot close by the entrance and guides the car in. "I thought you might like to spend the hot afternoon in an art museum."

"And what makes you think I love art museums?"

"I don't know – five years of friendship, six months of dating maybe?"

Quinn chuckles. "You have a point. Now, c'mon, I'm dying to see what they have." She gets out of the car and –

"Wait!" She jogs forward, grabbing Quinn's wrist. "There's a surprise for you first."

"For me?"

"Yep. You're not allowed to take the guidebook until I let you." Marley grins when Quinn's mouth falls open in surprise. "And you have to follow me until I say so."

"Okay, _now_ you've piqued my interest." Quinn adjusts their hands until their fingers are tangled together firmly. "Lead the way, and you'd better not keep me waiting any longer than I have to."

* * *

Marley has a hard time trying not to laugh as they go into the museum; Quinn fidgets like a small child, especially when they bypass the regular ticket queue for the reservation counter. After a few words with the receptionist, Marley collects a pair of tickets with something scribbled on the back of each.

"You booked tickets?"

"Of course I did," says Marley in mock indignation. "I planned today in great detail. But we probably would have missed our reservation if I hadn't kicked you out of the shower this morning."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Okay, well, I officially forgive you for that now."

"Good to know." Marley reaches for a guide book – smiling at the look on Quinn's face – and shoves it into her bag. "For later."

"I get the feeling you've taken the wrong part of the Cheerios power motto to heart."

"I learned from the best," replies Marley. She tugs Quinn along in the direction of the entrance, handing their tickets over to the attendant.

Marley doesn't miss the little intake of breath from the woman beside her as they walk into the museum – nor the muted disappointed sound when Marley leads them past. They walk until they reach a darkened room, and stand in front of a black curtain.

"We're here," announces Marley. "Hang on a minute."

"You're lucky you're cute," says Quinn teasingly.

Still smiling widely, Marley steps forward to show their tickets to the young woman standing beside the black curtain. She makes a few notes on the clipboard in her hands before motioning for them to go in. Marley turns back to Quinn. "Ready?"

"Ready." Together they push aside the curtain and go in, Quinn before Marley.

The reviews Marley read about the room don't do justice to the real thing. She feels weightless, drifting in an endless starfield of bright lights and brilliant colours.

Beside her, Quinn gasps.

"This is…" She trails off, at a loss to describe their surroundings. Slowly, she twirls in place. The lights illuminate her radiant expression. "This is amazing."

"We've got forty-five seconds, so make full use of it," says Marley. Their reflections, multiplied endlessly, move in sync with them, creating shadowy contrasts to the stars.

Together, they walk around the entire room, gasping as the lights blink on and off, marveling at the constellations created. It's not too long before the young woman comes in to usher them out, stopwatch in her hand and an apologetic expression on her face.

Outside, Quinn turns to Marley, eyes sparkling with happiness. "Thank you."

"I guess you liked your surprise?"

"I love it." Quinn kisses her cheek, and then the corner of Marley's mouth. "I forgot Yayoi Kusama has an Infinity Room on display here in LA, and I can't believe _you_ remembered."

"You were quite devastated we couldn't get tickets for her exhibition in New York." Marley brushes a stray lock of hair from Quinn's face. "But… this isn't her only Infinity Room here."

Slowly, the smile spreads over Quinn's features. "You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Marley fishes the guide book out of her bag, hands it to Quinn. "It just got installed a couple of months ago. Here. I'll even let you take us there."

She takes the book from her, but before Marley can start walking, Quinn grabs the back of Marley's neck and pulls her in for a kiss. "I love you," she whispers against Marley's lips.

"I love you, too," responds Marley automatically.

* * *

They tumble into the car, noisy and tired. Marley's head rolls on the car seat in Quinn's direction. "I really, really hope you enjoyed the afternoon."

Quinn blinks owlishly. "Okay, now I know you're joking. I've never been so spoiled in my life." She sighs happily. "... Did I ever tell you why I was so excited for the Infinity Room?"

"You… like shiny things?"

Quinn shoots her a look, swatting at Marley's arm. "It reminds me of that line from _Perks of a Wallflower_. About feeling infinite."

"That's really deep." Marley tips her face up. "It reminded me of that night in Lima, years ago, in the railyard."

"I remember. You and me in my car looking up at the stars through the sunroof." A hand brushes Marley's cheek. She leans into the touch. "It's one of my fondest memories."

"I remember wanting to stay in that moment forever," says Marley. "At that time, though, I had no clue we'd end up like this – no complaints, though."

Quinn makes a soft sound of agreement. "Funny how life turns out, right? I never dreamed I'd be with a woman, let alone you; and now I can't imagine my life without you in it." Quinn's eyes are bright.

She can't speak.

"Are you crying again, Marley?" Quinn laughs, brushing at the corners of Marley's eyes with her fingertips.

"What? It's normal to cry when you're feeling emotional. And anyway, I just have tears in my eyes, that's different." She breaks into a smile. "I'm just so happy right now."

"Me too."

Marley wipes away the last of her tears with the heel of her hand. "I, uh," she says, pausing to clear her throat, "I guess we should go."

"Oh? What else have you got planned?"

She chuckles. "Nice try, Fabray." Marley turns the keys in the ignition and shifts the car into drive. "You'll just have to wait and find out, won't you?"

"Fine. Can I at least ask how long I'll be waiting?"

Marley laughs. "It's about… twenty minutes from here?"

"That could be anywhere!"

"Then you'll have to be patient, won't you?"

Quinn huffs, in a manner very reminiscent of Rachel. "Fine. I guess I can control myself for twenty minutes." She reaches over to turn on the radio.

The afternoon sun has lost most of its momentum by the time they left The Broad. The breeze in their hair is warm, not stifling. Marley keeps her attention on the road for the most part, but every free moment she can spare is focused on Quinn. Quinn's consternation grows visibly as they whiz past the turn-off towards Hollywood Boulevard; it makes her smile. Remarkably, though, her girlfriend doesn't say a word.

Close to their destination, Marley notices a change in Quinn's demeanour. "The Griffith Observatory?"

"Smart." By this point, their surroundings are distinctly suburban.

"I thought it would be better to go at night?"

"They have quite a few exhibitions inside." The car winds its way up the hill. "Plus… I thought you'd like to see this." Marley pulls over so they can admire the view.

Quinn laughs softly. "How many times did you watch _La La Land_ before you planned this?"

"Enough times."

They're lucky; the heat of the day has given way to a beautiful sunset and a rapidly cooling evening. "The view's better from the top," says Marley, and resumes the drive up towards the observatory.

"I'm looking forward to coming here."

"Yeah. I thought it would be nice to go if the weather's good." She keeps an eye out for a parking spot. "Everyone keeps telling me to go, and I… I didn't want to come alone," she finishes almost as an afterthought. "It's silly, but I've only been here a couple of months, and I've spent all that time working. I don't know that many people."

Quinn doesn't say anything, and Marley focuses on backing the car into a vacant lot. Once she's killed the engine, a warm hand covers hers on the gear shift.

She glances at Quinn, lips lifting in a smile, which Quinn returns.

But soon enough, Quinn's shy smile widens, and a familiar spark of mischief springs into her eyes. "So," she says coyly, "I'm glad you waited for me. Shall we?"

"Of course." She lets Quinn lead the way into the observatory.

They flit from room to room inside, and before they know it, it's night. Quinn seems to have taken a leaf from Marley's book; she's filled with childish enthusiasm, practically dragging Marley outside.

"Wow."

"Yeah," agrees Marley.

It's like the Infinity Room, except the lights are confined to the land, and they're less dazzling than the room had been. Quinn rests her hands on the railing as she looks out on the city.

"Beats the lookout point outside Lima, huh?"

Quinn laughs. "Almost as good as the railyard, even."

"It's really spectacular." A breeze ruffles through; for a moment, they are quiet, savouring the view together.

"For some reason," says Marley at last, "this reminds me of your field. Where you took me to get away from everything."

In the dim light, she sees Quinn nod. "I think I know what you mean. It feels removed from everything else, like a breathing space in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm glad I'm not alone in experiencing this."

Quinn moves closer, rests her head on Marley's shoulder. "Me too."

* * *

"Now what, Miss Planner?"

"Now, dinner." Marley grins at her. "I was thinking either a nice dinner downtown, or Chinese takeout and movies at home."

"Both sound really great."

"Since you're my guest, you pick one."

"Is the hostess on the menu?"

Marley gasps in mock outrage. "Quinn!"

"I was kidding!" Quinn's eyes roam over Marley's body with a deliberate slowness that makes Marley bite her lip. "Maybe not dinner. Perhaps dessert."

"You, Miss Fabray, have a filthy mind."

"Mmm. Perhaps that's why I can't seem to stop talking dirty."

"It's not a good thing, stop looking so smug."

Quinn giggles. "I'm not looking smug!"

"Yes, you are. I know what your smug face looks like," insists Marley. "Santana told me."

"I have loads of dirt on Santana Lopez. She should have thought of that before she started spreading false rumors about me."

Marley smirks. "I still think you're adorable either way."

"You're a biased party." The unmistakable sounds of Motown play on the radio; it's a girl group. The Supremes or The Shirelles. Quinn's face lights up and she starts humming along to the melody. "I love this song. I think we did this once."

"Do you miss Glee?" She does, and she's interested in finding someone to commiserate.

"A little. I liked the fact that we were all so different, with our goals and places on the social hierarchy, but in that room, we could be regular kids who loved to sing." Quinn smiles to herself. "We were all so dramatic back then. Well, Rachel's still dramatic, but she's Rachel." She glances at Marley. "What was your favourite part?"

"The music. Definitely. Like, I was a really shy kid so part of the reason I joined was 'cause my mom thought it would be good for my self-confidence, but I stayed for the performances. When we pulled off a flawless routine and we sounded so good… goosebumps." She averts her eyes, blushing. "Plus… Elvis was in Glee club in high school."

Quinn, much to her credit, doesn't laugh. "Can't argue with the King," she says, nodding.

"My dad used to put on Elvis on Sundays." Marley keeps her eyes on the road. "He had this huge collection of vinyl records. But it was always this particular record on Sundays. When I was in eighth grade, we had to do a project about a cultural icon and my mom suggested Elvis. That's how I knew what my dad always played on Sundays."

She can feel Quinn's eyes on her. "I'm sorry."

"When he left, Mom gave all the records to the thrift store before we moved out of town." Marley shrugs. "Which is too bad. I'd have liked to listen to his collection."

"Yeah. It sounds like it would have been pretty interesting."

* * *

They get Chinese takeout on the way home; it's Quinn's idea, and Marley's happy to go along with it. She's a little fatigued from the week leading up to this, plus the anxiety of making sure the day went exactly as planned is catching up with her. She's already thinking of a nice long shower and bed when she pulls into her designated lot and kills the engine. "I'll get dinner," Marley says, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening her car door.

"Let me help."

"I'm fine, it's just a few bags – oh." She cuts herself off when Quinn opens the other door and slides in. "... What are you doing?"

"Here, let me…" Quinn takes the takeout cartons out of her hands and sets them in the now-vacant passenger seat. Marley, completely dumbfounded, lets her.

"What are you… what are you doing?" she asks again.

Quinn's hands are soft on her forearms, but her touch sears as they move higher. "What do you _think_ I'm doing?" she says, holding her gaze the entire time.

"... in _here_? You're crazy. We're not horny teenagers anymore." And yet Marley doesn't make a move to stop her.

"You can't tell me you're not turned on by this," responds Quinn with a devilish smirk. She leans forward, tugging away the collar of Marley's shirt to scrape her teeth over the sensitive skin.

"I'm not having sex with you in the backseat of my car." And yet, with every word, Marley can feel her resolve crumbling – especially when Quinn artfully undoes a button on the front of her shirt so she can slip her hand in. "Oh my god. I can't believe you're doing this. I can't believe _we're_ doing this."

Quinn kisses her hard. Her hand slides under Marley's bra, cupping a breast, toying with the nipple. Marley gasps into the kiss, back arching. "Quinn…"

The hand withdraws. She bites her tongue to stop the frustrated groan. "Okay, I was wrong. Now please keep doing that."

"Wrong about?"

"Wrong about me not having sex with you in the backseat of my car. Don't you dare stop now." Marley sucks on the skin of Quinn's neck. She doesn't care if she leaves a mark; it serves her right for initiating this entire thing in the first place.

Quinn chuckles. While her hand continues to palm Marley's breast, the other undoes the clasp of Marley's skirt, fingers teasing at her panties.

Marley sucks in a breath. Her breathing starts to get ragged, hips jerking into Quinn's hand. Marley yanks Quinn's face back to hers for another kiss.

Quinn nudges her legs apart with a knee, smiling into Marley's mouth when Marley eagerly spreads her legs wide. She straddles her thigh, one hand slipping into damp panties, fingers finding her clit and rubbing.

Marley lets her head fall back on the seat. She gives in completely to the mounting pleasure, as Quinn plays her like a violin. "Oh, god," she pants, gripping Quinn's shoulders when her girlfriend enters her with two fingers. Her hips rise to meet each thrust.

Quinn's head drops to Marley's shoulder. Her hot breath tickles Marley's neck; the sensations provide that last little urge she needs to push her over the edge and she does so, gasping " _Quinn_ " as she comes, _hard_.

She feels a tender kiss where her shoulder meets her neck. Quinn sits up on her knees, combing hair from where it's plastered to Marley's forehead. "You're really good at this," is the first thing Marley can think of to say once she's caught her breath.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I think that's because we've been doing it almost constantly over the past few days." She presses a kiss to the underside of Marley's jaw and settles more comfortably in her lap; automatically, Marley wraps her arms around Quinn's waist.

"Your turn."

"Once you recover," replies Quinn, smirking.

* * *

After the day they had – and the night after – Marley thought it perfectly justified to have a lazy day in. Quinn, of course, agreed wholeheartedly.

She wakes surrounded by afternoon sun and Quinn. Marley blinks slowly as she tries to locate herself in the present, letting the vestiges of her dreams fall away – which is easy, seeing that the woman before her is far better.

Smiling, Marley presses a kiss to the upper arm she's currently using as a pillow, and settles in more comfortably.

"You're staring," says Quinn without opening her eyes.

"Uncomfortable?"

"Physically, no. With the staring, yes."

Marley giggles.

"Stop grinning like that."

Marley adjusts the position of her chin on her hands. "How do you know if I'm grinning or not?"

"Seriously? You always have this way of smiling when you're looking at me." Quinn opens her eyes. "I used to find it creepy, but now I think it's… endearing."

"You must really love me," says Marley, grinning wider. "From creepy to endearing."

"I suppose. Don't push it." Quinn closes her eyes again, and drapes her arm over them. "What time is it?"

"Nine. I think."

"Why are we awake?"

"I'm awake because I can hardly believe you're here with me," replies Marley matter-of-factly, "and you're awake because my staring and grinning woke you up."

The blankets covering Quinn rise and fall as she huffs her displeasure; Marley's eyes drift to her chest briefly. "You were doing so well, you know." She uncovers her eyes, using her now unoccupied arm to draw Marley closer to her. "Learn to quit while you're ahead."

"Excuse you, I am awesome at flirting." Marley kisses her jaw, and snuggles in.

"Fine. Can we go back to sleep now?"

She can't resist a last, "Man, you're grouchy in the morning" before she wraps an arm around Quinn's middle and closes her eyes again.

* * *

Surprisingly, when she next wakes, it's to an empty bed…

… and the sounds of running water coming from the bathroom.

An evil smirk appears on her face. It's the perfect opportunity to get back at Quinn for yesterday night in the car – and to make up for yesterday morning's rush. She rolls out of bed – almost tumbling out due to her hastiness – and sneaks into the bathroom, making short work of her clothing as she goes.

The cabinet is fogged up from the water. Marley doesn't waste time; she opens the door, and closes it behind her before she has a chance to lose her nerve.

Quinn has her back to the door, treating Marley to an unimpeded view. She takes a step forward, arms encircling Quinn's waist. "Hey," she says into Quinn's ear.

"I really should throw you out like you did to me yesterday," says Quinn without turning around.

"Is there any way I can change your mind?" Marley's fingers skim down Quinn's thigh; the older woman shivers despite the warm water cascading around them.

"Mmm. You're doing pretty well, so far."

Marley turns her around. She covers Quinn's mouth with her own in a heated kiss, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. "How about now?" she asks, her free hand tracing patterns in the water over Quinn's skin.

"Still could be better."

She guides Quinn backwards, not breaking the kiss. Her thigh presses in between Quinn's legs; Quinn moans into her mouth, rubbing herself against Marley's leg. Her hands grip at Marley's shoulders.

It's hard to breathe in the hot foggy air. Marley focuses on Quinn's neck, sucking and nipping. Their bodies slide together, slick with water; she thrusts back and forth until she feels Quinn come with a breathy cry.

Her arms wrap around Quinn's shoulders, holding her up. "Now should we focus on getting clean?" she asks cheekily.

"LA has been a terrible influence on you," murmurs Quinn, but she kisses the side of Marley's face sweetly. "Initiating shower sex? How daring."

" _You_ attempted to initiate shower sex yesterday," insists Marley, "so I think it's less LA and more Quinn Fabray influencing." She lets Quinn rub shampoo into her hair, sighing as she massages her scalp. "Mmm. Shower sex and pampering; I really fail to see how any of this is a terrible influence."

"The terrible influence part is when you see your water bill at the end of the month."

Marley gasps. "Don't even joke about that."

"I wouldn't dare." The hands that, up until that moment, have been shampooing her hair, glide lower until they cup her breasts. "... oh. Is this one of those happy ending massages they talk about?"

Quinn chuckles throatily in her ear. "Do you want it to be?"

A pleasant shudder ripples through Marley's spine.

* * *

"Now," says Marley, already bustling through her kitchen, "let's figure out brunch."

"I'm not that hungry, I already ate."

Marley peers at her around a cupboard door. "Really, Quinn? Do you really wanna go there?"

Quinn snickers. She licks her lips – Marley's attention is drawn to the movement of her tongue – and lifts her mug to take a sip of her coffee. "No. You're right. That was terrible."

"I wish you weren't leaving so soon. I'm gonna miss all of this so much."

The words are out of Marley's mouth before she can think twice about what she's said. When it sinks in, she closes the cupboard to look at Quinn properly. "I mean – I know we agreed to do this, but – "

"– can we… can we not talk about this now, please?" Quinn's expression is pleading; she wraps an arm around herself. "Let's just enjoy being here together."

"... Okay. I'm sorry."

"No, you don't have to apologise." Quinn gives her a small smile, and then returns her attention to her coffee.

Marley nods. She rubs her hands together in an attempt to motivate herself to revive the mood, and goes back to digging through her food supplies. "So, I was thinking," she begins, "since I have plenty of packaged stuff but no fresh food, we could go on a grocery run? It's been a while since we've gone to the store together, and it'll be just like old times. But if you're not feeling up to it, we can eat out too," she tacks on as an afterthought.

"The grocery run sounds fun." Quinn walks over to the sink to rinse out her mug. "You're right; it's been a while."

"Oh, good. Uh, would you be okay going out like that, or do you wanna change?" Marley's eyes glance over the sweater and pants Quinn's wearing.

"This is fine."

"Great. Well, not so great for me." She picks at a hole in her shorts and winces. "These shorts are ancient; I'll be arrested for public indecency if I wear this out. Give me a minute to go change…" To get to her room, Marley has to bypass Quinn. She can always make a trip around the kitchen table, but…

She gnaws on her bottom lip. The memory of their last real fight is fresh in her mind, as is Quinn's hurt expression. Marley turns her back to Quinn to walk around the kitchen table –

"Marley."

She pauses.

"Don't… I'm sorry."

"Quinn, when have I ever held anything you've said or done against you?" She turns around so she can hold Quinn properly, even as Quinn's arms remain around herself. Marley rests her chin against Quinn's hair. "We kinda needed to have this conversation, anyway."

"Yeah, but… it totally killed the mood."

"Serious talk usually does. I get it. I really do," she confesses. "I don't want to talk about us either, but…"

"... but we have to eventually. You're right," admits Quinn, voice muffled against Marley's neck. "It's not easy. And I hate it sometimes, I… I resent it, even. I used to be okay on my own. I didn't have to depend on anyone to be happy, and it was better that way."

Marley makes a soft sound.

"It makes me feel like I'm losing control, sometimes. That being dependent on someone to be happy makes me weak." She feels Quinn shudder in her arms. "I don't like feeling like this… being vulnerable."

"Don't push me away," murmurs Marley. "When I thought you were doing it, I… it was the worst feeling in the world. I can't imagine what it must have felt like for you at the time."

"I… I'm doing my best not to."

Marley places two fingers under Quinn's chin, nudging her face up. "I really think it's good that you're telling me this, because it means that you trust me. And to me, that doesn't mean you're losing control or being weak and vulnerable; it means that you're strong enough to let me in. We're in this together, alright?"

"Alright," says Quinn softly. "I get all of that. It's hard not to when you tell me constantly…"

Marley grins sheepishly.

"... But I'm alright. I _am_ coping. It was just… I forgot, for a moment, I don't have a home to go to at the other end of the country."

"I know. Me too."

Quinn leans into her briefly, then looks down. "Maybe we could talk about this later?"

"Of course." She disappears into her room in search of a pair of intact pants. Marley moves on autopilot, her thoughts otherwise occupied. She won't lie; she's a little worried about Quinn now.

Marley is fairly certain they've weathered the crisis with Mrs Fabray well enough. But it had been followed almost immediately after by her move to Los Angeles, which would already be a strain on a normal close friendship.

In short, there was no way she would be able to provide Quinn with the emotional support that came with friendship – let alone with a relationship.

She checks her skirt in the mirror, deems it satisfactory, and rejoins Quinn outside. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Marley leads the way, but she keeps one hand relaxed at her side – just in case. "So, I don't have any particular places I go to, but we could go to Ralph's, 'cause they have a really good ice cream place nearby."

"That sounds great."

They reach the car. Marley unlocks it and they climb in. "What do you feel like eating?"

"Anything would be good. You can go ahead and pick."

"I have a better idea. We'll see what's on special offer and figure out something from there."

This gets a smile from Quinn. "Adventurous."

"Why not? We've got all day today to recover if something goes wrong. Besides, we're us; we're definitely capable of feeding ourselves without screwing up _too_ badly."

Quinn shakes her head, but Marley catches the fleeting glimpse of a smile as she glances over at the rearview mirrors, and that's good enough for now. She trusts Quinn not to run from her issues as she used to.

* * *

Marley blinks, excited. "I'll, uh, get a cart." She glances left and right until she spots the lanes, and goes to retrieve one.

When she comes back, Quinn meets her with an appraising look. "When was the last time you were here?"

"Um." She's not liking the direction of this line of enquiry, but answers anyway: "Couple of weeks ago? I shop at other stores too."

"You don't cook much, do you?"

Her jaw sets. "No. I'm busy with work, and I buy takeout home most of the time." Marley struggles with not going on the defensive. "Look, Quinn… I understand that you're concerned about me eating, but I really don't think now's the time to be talking about that." She sighs; her grip on the cart relaxes. "I do want to talk about it. Honest, but we kinda have a lot on our plates right now."

Quinn exhales softly. "Alright. I'm… I didn't mean to make it sound like an inquisition, especially after earlier. I know I have issues."

"Yeah, you do," says Marley, and is gratified when Quinn smiles back.

"Okay. I guess I deserved that."

Marley sets off; Quinn matches her pace. "Food first, talking later?"

"Sure."

Marley clears her throat. "So… veg. Do you have any violent opinions on those?"

"Not after nearly a decade of being friends with Rachel, no," replies Quinn. She focuses her attention on a head of broccoli, seemingly absorbed with finding an unblemished one.

"Right. Should have expected that." Marley snags a bag of carrots off the display. "It's been a while since we last went grocery shopping together – and when was that, exactly?"

"Sometime last year? When you were working so much you forgot to eat."

Quinn glances sideways at her, but thankfully, doesn't say anything. "Yeah, I remember. Oh yeah, that reminds me – Ethan, the guy that was hitting on me? He got fired a month ago, for harrassment."

"Good riddance. If it was enough for him to get fired, I guess he must have made the working environment pretty toxic."

"It was. Apparently, I got off easy." Quinn walks off towards the meat display; Marley struggles to keep her face straight.

"I'm surprised you restrained yourself this long," says Marley dryly, nodding at the package of smoked bacon in Quinn's hand.

Quinn shakes her head. "Don't push your luck."

"Pick whatever you want. We should cook more while you're here; I don't use my kitchen enough anyway, and I've missed your cooking."

"My cooking? Seriously?"

"Hopefully, you've come a long way from desecrating my mom's recipes, right?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side, contemplating Marley. She smirks suddenly. "I hope so."

* * *

By the time they arrive home, most of the strange tension from the morning has dissipated, and Quinn seems perfectly comfortable again. "I'll cook, you assist," she says, taking the grocery bag out of Marley's hands. "Okay?"

Marley giggles. "How can I say no when you're being forceful and adorable like this?"

"I'm not sure those two adjectives go together, but okay." Quinn surveys the groceries they've just bought, and have set out all over the kitchen table and counters. "How about… stir-fry?"

"Sounds nice."

"I thought brunch, but I think I've had enough of pancakes… no offence."

"Only the slightest taken." Marley smooths down the front of her shirt and pushes up her sleeves. "So, chef, what do you need me to do?"

"Break down the broccoli, please." She fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove. While waiting for the water to boil, she busies herself with the packages of noodles. She glances around, eyes lingering on Marley, and the contentment in her expression is unmistakable.

Marley sets down her knife. "Quinn?"

"Mmm?"

"To answer your question before, I don't go to the grocery store much. I've been working a lot to keep my mind off things, and most of the time I didn't feel like cooking. Even when I was living with my mom, we cook for two or more, and there're always leftovers in the fridge."

"You've done a good job of staying busy, though." Quinn casts a quick look at the pot, before she walks over to Marley's side of the kitchen. "I know how hard it can be to stay focused, and to remember to maintain a structure. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, but… Quinn, I have something to tell you."

Quinn's facial expression stills.

"It has to do with what we talked about this morning."

Quinn's face goes from stoic to a calculated blankness that Marley recognizes as hiding a wealth of emotion.

"I… I went back to Columbus last month," says Marley.

"Columbus? I thought you went to Lima to visit your mom?"

She nods. "I did. But I also went to see my therapist. I used to go weekly, when I was struggling with my disorder; now I go once a year or so just to check in with her."

Quinn nods.

"I talk to her. About you. I've been telling her almost everything from the beginning… when you came into my life, when we were becoming friends. It helped with everything." Marley lifts her gaze to Quinn's concerned eyes. "You're the first person I could talk to about my disorder after her."

"I'm glad you trusted me," says Quinn.

"You don't mind I talked to her about you? I mean – " she struggles to find coherent words for her jumbled thoughts, "– I know you value your privacy, and I don't want you to feel betrayed that I talked to a stranger about you."

"I don't mind." Quinn comes closer, close enough that their foreheads touch. "I know she's a big part of your life, Marley, and I'm grateful that she's helped you so much."

Relief floods through her body. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me so quickly. I can tell that there's something else on your mind."

"Yeah? I'm pretty much an open book, aren't I?"

Quinn chuckles. "And I'm closed-off and aloof. We're so meant to be."

Marley smiles, bumping her girlfriend playfully with her shoulder. "As I was saying… I talked to my therapist about us, now. Our doing long-distance. And she said something that I didn't fully understand until now." She takes a deep breath. "Everything we left behind in New York; my insecurities, your emotional issues, our future… she told me to make sure it stays there."

She can feel Quinn searching her face, mouth twisted as she slowly processes what Marley is telling her.

"I wasn't sure what she meant until this morning. We both agreed to do this, but I know it's not fair to the both of us to act like nothing has changed when we do get a chance to see each other. Because it _has_. We live on opposite ends of the country and that means I can't be with you when you need me, when you had a crappy day and you want someone to hold you and watch trashy TV with you. You can't tell me everything's gonna be okay when I'm crying over something that went wrong at work."

Marley waves her hand at their surroundings. "As much as I love that you're here now, you're too important to me for us to try and cram an entire relationship into the few days whenever one of us visits the other."

"So what are you asking me to do, Marley?" Quinn's voice is barely above a whisper.

"I want you to wait for me. I… I'm not asking for us to break up, but – I'm just having a really hard time trying to put all this in words, so please be patient with me? I…" Marley shakes her head, and tries again: "I want a real relationship with you. But we won't stand a chance if we don't work on those issues that you and I have…"

"... which is impossible right now, because we're not even living in the same city," finishes Quinn.

"I know I'm not meant to be here." She breathes in. Marley closes her eyes, and opens them. "My home is where you are."

"Marley…"

An angry burble from the pot on the stove causes them both to jump. Quinn crosses the kitchen in quick steps to turn down the heat, and put the noodles inside. Marley resumes vegetable prep, now julienning carrots.

They don't speak again until they're both seated with plates of noodle stir-fry, and Marley feels a hand on hers. "I want this, too," says Quinn, with a quick glance at their joined hands, "I want to make it work."

Marley smiles. "Okay," she says, squeezing back.

* * *

"Marley?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you talked to Finn or Brittany lately?"

Marley looks up from the soapy dishes in the sink. They've both been quiet for the rest of the afternoon, preoccupied with their own thoughts; it takes her a while to get back into a functional frame of mind. "Uh… I was texting Finn the other day. He thinks Junior Mints are the best movie snack of all time, which I don't agree with when Starburst exists. Why?"

Quinn doesn't bat an eyelash. "Well, I think… it would be nice if we could all go out while I'm in town. It's been a while since I talked to Brittany, and I think it would be good to reconnect with Finn again."

Marley rinses her hands, wiping them on the dry dishtowel hanging from the cupboard railing. "Oh! I mean – that'll be good. I can go ask if they're free, and we could meet for dinner." She reaches for her phone, unlocking it and tapping on the screen.

Quinn hums. "Okay." She takes a wet dish from the rack and wipes it dry. "You should go do that elsewhere."

"But, the dishes."

"We're almost done. I can finish them on my own. Go, shoo, you're blocking the sink." Quinn waves her hand at her in a dismissive motion.

"Rude," says Marley, smiling widely. But she exits the kitchen, sending the text as she goes. Her phone rings as she settles comfortably on the couch. "Hey, Finn."

"Marley! Got your text," says Finn warmly. "Britt and I would be glad for all of us to meet up. Though, you sure it's _Quinn's_ idea?"

"She kicked me out of my own kitchen to text you, so yes." She talks loud enough so Quinn can hear her.

He chuckles. "That's actually… sounds like how she was like back in our sophomore year; all bossy and stuff. I'm convinced."

From the kitchen, Quinn calls: "Tell Finn to pick someplace other than the diner. As much as I love unpretentious diner food, there are only so many milkshakes and breakfasts-for-dinner any sane person can consume in four days."

"I heard Quinn. What'd she say?"

"She said not to pick the diner."

Finn makes a disappointed sound. "Awww, man. Fine. I'm sure Britt has plenty of ideas for other good places we can go. When's good? Tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, that should be okay with us," says Marley.

"Cool. I'll get Britt to text you the address. Looking forward to it! Bye, Marley."

"Bye." She ends the call, and picks up a throw cushion from beside her to hug.

They have a knack for navigating difficult conversations – especially ones conducted at the wrong time and place – but that last one has to take the cake. Strangely, she feels lighter; like she can enjoy the moment properly without worrying about the long-term.

"You look comfortable."

From the light and casual tone Quinn's taken, Marley guesses she feels the same. She doesn't bother arguing with Quinn; Marley's smile just widens, and she tosses the cushion aside unceremoniously, patting her lap. "Sit down."

"You know, just because you're taller doesn't mean you get to be the guy." Nevertheless, Quinn does sit carefully in her lap.

Marley laughs. She spreads her legs so Quinn can sit comfortably in between, curling an arm around Quinn's waist to encourage her to lean back into her body. "What have you got there?" she asks, catching sight of the book in Quinn's hand.

Quinn holds up the book so Marley can read the title _Sudden Death_ in black on lurid green. "Finally getting round to good writing."

"Haven't found the next great thing yet?"

"Far from it." She cracks open the book to the first page. "Now hush."

Marley does. She snuggles into Quinn, her free arm joining the other, resting her chin on Quinn's shoulder to read.

"Are you reading over my shoulder?"

"Yep."

"Get your own book."

"I was going to, then _someone_ sat on top of me and made herself comfy."

Quinn giggles. "Someone, huh?"

"A certain someone," confirms Marley.

"I brought you books," points out Quinn, "there's no excuse for you reading over my shoulder."

"Not even when there's a beautiful woman on my lap crushing me?"

Quinn swats at her with her book. "Are you just gonna heckle me, or are you gonna let me read in peace?"

Marley's laughing so hard, she has to press her face to Quinn's shoulder to try and calm herself down enough to speak. "I'll make you a deal," she says at last, "you get me one of those books of which you speak, and I'll leave you alone."

"Okay, but there's no guarantee I'll come back to put myself at your mercy," says Quinn. She tucks her bookmark inside her book, and stands up, heading for the room. When she returns, it's with a trim travel-sized paperback which she hands to Marley. "My boss recommended this to me. I thought it was pretty good, so I bought a copy for you."

She takes the book from Quinn. "Thanks," says Marley, already engrossed with reading the blurb on the back of the cover.

Quinn settles beside her, curling her body into Marley's.

* * *

When she climbs into bed at the end of the day, Quinn is already on the left side, which she's claimed as her own. Marley gets under the covers, near Quinn but not touching. She's tired from everything that's happened.

Quinn rolls over. She rests her head on Marley's chest, fingers gripping the fabric of Marley's shirt. Marley holds her. She strokes the back of Quinn's neck until Quinn's breathing evens out.

* * *

"This is gonna be awkward, isn't it?"

Marley blinks in consternation. Between following the robotic directions of the GPS and maneuvering the car through LA traffic, it takes a while for her to process what Quinn's saying. "I think it'll be as awkward as we make it," she replies. "We've hung out with them before."

"Yes, but individually. Not as – not together." She ducks her head immediately after, as though embarrassed. "... No, you know what? Never mind. You're right. I don't even know what I'm saying right now."

Marley sighs. It's been some time since she's seen Quinn this insecure, but it's never a good feeling. "You have a point," she says. The lights change, and Marley puts her hand on Quinn's lap, grateful for the opportunity. "Like, I know how weird this is to an outsider – Finn and I, we've talked about that…"

Quinn narrows her eyes. "You talked about all of this with _Finn_?"

"Uh… yes?"

"Well, that's – " Quinn cuts herself off, and then begins again: "Sorry, I'm just a little – you talked about something that wasn't football or food, in considerable depth, with _Finn Hudson_. The last time I had a conversation with him that was deeper than that, he was breaking up with me to date Rachel in our sophomore year."

Marley has never been more happy to see a green light. "I, uh, I don't think I'll ever get used to how complicated all your back history is – or how everyone's still friends."

"You're technically one of us now."

"Oh, I know." The GPS announces that they're at their destination. Marley pulls off the street into the lot, and makes short work of parking. She checks her phone. "They're here, they got a table. Ready?"

"I should be asking you that," replies Quinn.

* * *

"Quinn!"

The look on Quinn's face as she gets swept into a massive hug by Brittany makes Marley want to simultaneously tear up and laugh. She forgets all about that when Finn pats her shoulder. "Hey, Finn."

"Hey, guys. Glad you could make it."

"Same here," says Quinn, because it's Marley's turn for a Brittany hug, and she's not currently capable of speech. "Hi, Finn."

"Hi," he says softly.

"I've missed you both!" exclaims Brittany. She seems oblivious to whatever's between Finn and Quinn. "Especially you, Quinn."

"Same, Britt."

"Could you answer a question for me real quick? Where exactly in New York is the big apple kept?"

Quinn and Marley exchange looks; Finn looks unperturbed, flagging down a waitress to place their drink orders. "Uh… There's no big apple."

"I know that," she quips, "I was making a joke. The both of you look really tense."

They both start laughing.

* * *

"Y'know, it's a shame they had to leave so early."

For once, Quinn's driving. Marley was persuaded into having something harder than her usual lemonade (and a few more of those somethings), and thus is lounging in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio. "Don't lie," says Quinn distractedly, "you're as eager as I am to go home."

"Am I?" Marley rests her hand on Quinn's knee.

Quinn chuckles. "And to think you used to be so innocent. I've corrupted you."

"I'm not as innocent as everyone thinks I am. I did a lot of corrupting on my own, thank you very much. You're a lot less dirty than you make yourself out to be."

"Sex is a completely normal thing, and so is having a healthy attitude towards it." Quinn smirks. "Plus, Santana was the only person I knew who had _Cosmo_ magazines under her bed."

"Mmm. Isn't everything much better than the Celibacy Club?"

"You're ridiculous when you're drunk. It's a good thing I'm driving, otherwise I'd film this for Santana."

Marley pouts. "I'm not drunk."

"Which is what drunk people say."

"I want you."

"We'll see how you're feeling when we get home." Quinn still looks amused as she follows the GPS instructions, signalling for a left turn. "I think it's been a while since you've drank that much; you're gonna regret it tomorrow."

She doesn't understand why Quinn is being so difficult. After all, _she_ was the one who jumped her in the backseat of her own car, for goodness' sake. And now she's declining sex? Marley realises she's slumped low in the car seat, and pushes herself up.

"Hey, I didn't jump you. I thought it would be fun, and you were all for that," says Quinn.

Marley frowns. "... Did I say that out loud?"

Quinn bursts out laughing. "Ridiculous _and_ adorable. Such an attractive combination." She kills the engine and takes the keys.

"Wait, why'd you do that?"

"Because we're home?"

"Oh."

"Wait here," says Quinn, unbuckling her seatbelt. Marley rubs her face as the car door on the far side slams shut, and then the door to her right opens. "Can you stand?"

"Of course." Marley gets out. "See?"

"Good. Let's go."

Marley clings to Quinn's arm, humming to herself.

"That's nice."

"It's off Trent's new album."

"Isn't that the guy whose album you're producing? I should get a copy."

"I'll send you one." Marley fishes in Quinn's bag for the keys. "You need to unlock the door so we can get in."

Quinn watches as Marley fiddles with the door, and gets the lights. "You're surprisingly well-organized for a drunk," she says as she follows Marley inside.

"I have a pretty good alcohol tolerance, but I don't like using it." Marley drops her keys into the bowl in the hallway. "Now, c'mon. Bed."

"How can I resist?" she hears Quinn say, as she heads to her room.

Marley kicks off her shoes, unwinding the scarf from around her neck. She doesn't care to see where she drops everything as she makes her way to the bed, collapsing face-first on the pillows.

The mattress depresses beside her. Marley reaches out blindly until she finds solid warmth. "You still have clothes," she says, rubbing fabric between finger and thumb.

The world spins. When it settles, she's lying flat on her back, looking up at Quinn. "I make it a policy not to sleep with people when they're drunk," says Quinn, still smiling.

"I'm not drunk."

"Yes, you are. And there'll be plenty of time to continue this discussion tomorrow." As she talks, Quinn simultaneously reaches for the bottle of water from the bedside table and swats Marley's hands off her shirt. "Drink."

"Why are you being so responsible?" grumbles Marley. She drinks.

"Trust me, drunk sex only looks good in the movies. I know this, sadly, from experience," says Quinn, deadpan. She turns off the lamp and kisses Marley on the forehead. "Good night."

* * *

Her mouth tastes disgusting.

When Marley cracks her eyelids open, she's alone. There's two aspirin on the side, together with a bottle of water, and the sounds of someone cooking in the kitchen.

By the time she's showered and brushed her teeth, she feels considerably less hungover; enough to find Quinn – or, more accurately, the kitchen table.

"Good morning," says Quinn. "How're you feeling?"

"Better." Marley cracks open an eye to smile at Quinn sheepishly. "I was really fun to be around last night, huh?"

"The best," replies Quinn very seriously. She sets a glass of milk on the table. "Did you drink the water?"

"Yes, and took the aspirin. Thanks for taking care of me."

"You don't need to thank me for that."

When she's a little more awake, she notices Quinn is fully dressed, as though going somewhere… a cold sinking feeling makes itself known in the pit of her stomach. "Oh. Shit. It's Tuesday today, isn't it?"

Quinn has two plates in her hands; one goes in front of Marley, the other for herself. "Yeah."

"Oh."

An insistent pressure under her chin coaxes her into looking up at Quinn. "Don't make this harder than it already is," she says quietly.

She forces a smile that fools no one. "I'm trying not to. I just can't believe that time passed so quickly."

"I know, sweetheart."

Marley chuckles softly. "I thought you don't do endearments."

"Yes, but you like them regardless." Quinn's fingers brush her cheek briefly, and then she's leaning away, attention back on her breakfast. Marley suspects it might be forced. "I've got something for you after we're done eating."

"So do I."

The food is solid and tasteless in her throat, but she eats every last bit anyway. Marley puts the plate in the sink the minute she's done, and then heads for the wrapped box in the back of her dresser.

Quinn hands her a flat box once she returns. "I realised that in all the time we've been friends," she starts, "we've never really celebrated each other's birthdays."

"It wasn't really important." Birthday cakes were luxuries growing up, and the day off school was usually what Marley would get on her birthday until midway through high school, when she had friends to celebrate the occasion with. Marley gives her own gift to Quinn. "I didn't really have your birthday in mind when I got this; I was just thinking that you'd like it."

Quinn has this look on her face, like she's been handed a pipe bomb; like she doesn't know what to do with the object in her hands because it's completely unexpected, but she knows better than to throw it to one side like instinct dictates. "Marley, I… you didn't have to."

"Great minds think alike," she says. The hangover is lingering long enough that she feels like she's detached from her emotions – which, for today only, is a blessing. Marley's fingers run over the paper, finding the tape that holds it all together, fingernails peeling it away.

Quinn is a little less careful. There are rips in the wrapping paper, and she has the box open in her lap before Marley has even gotten the paper off her gift. "A thumbdrive?" she asks, holding it up.

"It has songs on it that remind me of you and us," explains Marley. "A mixtape seemed really small and old-fashioned."

Quinn gives a watery laugh. "The wonders of modern technology."

Finally, Marley lifts the lid of her box and pulls out a scarf. It's white and gauzy, and it has intricate black patterns all over it, which on closer inspection… "They're _words_ ," says Marley, awed, and holds it up to the light.

"You love your hipster scarves," says Quinn. "I thought this would have a more personal touch."

" _But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there,_ " reads Marley, and looks up, amazed. "Is this… did they print the entire book on this?"

"Yeah." Quinn smiles shyly. "I'm glad you like it."

"So much." She winds the scarf around her neck, fingers trembling as they arrange the material neatly. "I love it. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You haven't opened your other gift yet," says Marley.

"Huh?"

"I'd only intended to give you the mixtape, but I happened on it in the shop," explains Marley. In front of her, Quinn returns to the box, removing the thumbdrive and the layers of cushioning tissue. "Stars are kind of our thing now, but this was how we became friends."

Quinn lifts a chain from the box; a tiny silver pendant glitters on it. It's in the shape of a book. "It's beautiful. Help me put it on?"

She has to get up. She does, slowly. Marley walks around to stand behind Quinn's chair; her hands cover Quinn's, taking the ends of the chain from her. She brings it around Quinn's neck, skin brushing skin; the fine hairs of Quinn's head tickle her fingers. She fastens it and lets go, so she's not touching Quinn more than she has to.

"Thank you," whispers Quinn, touching the silver book where it rests on her collarbone.

Marley doesn't move away. Her arms slide around Quinn's shoulders, and she buckles forward. "I'll miss you," she whispers, and feels Quinn's quiet shudder.

It doesn't feel like very long before Quinn squeezes her wrist, and says hoarsely: "We should be going."

"Okay." Marley lets go. She grabs the first clothes out of her closet – an old floral-print blouse and a skirt – and marches back out, adjusting the scarf over her new outfit. Quinn looks up, startled, from where she's been sitting on the couch. "Let's go," says Marley, snatching up her keys and bag.

"Marley…"

She meets Quinn halfway, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. Quinn responds, her fingers weaving into Marley's hair and holding on tight.

Just as it was Marley who initiated it, Marley is the one to put space between them first. She does her best not to let her lips tremble. "I don't think I can kiss you like this at the airport," she murmurs. Her hand cradles the side of Quinn's face.

Quinn's mouth parts like she's about to laugh; what sounds like a sob comes out instead. "Then you should do it again."

The tug on her hair was unnecessary. Their lips crash together once more, and Marley holds on like she can stop the world from spinning and time marching on if she holds on tight enough, if she wants it badly enough.

Her eyes flicker open. Marley studies the curve of Quinn's cheek, how her skin trembles when her fingertips trace her features. She inhales Quinn, lets her presence saturate her being. "I'll miss you."

"You can't miss me if I'm not gone yet," says Quinn, expression stoic, eyes vulnerable.

* * *

Adapting back to an LA without Quinn is more of a struggle than she'd envisioned. Quinn is conspicuous in her absence, pervasive in memory, and Marley fights to center herself.

But instead of distracting herself with work, she sets herself a goal: sorting out her life priorities, and working towards achieving them.

* * *

Trent's album goes on the market with a modest ad campaign to back it up. In the middle of the promo circuit of LA's record stores, she gets a phone call. Marley fervently hopes it's not her boss with more bad news. But then she does a double take on seeing the caller ID.

"Quinn. Hi!"

"Hi. Is this a bad time?"

"Nope, not at all." She catches her colleague's eye and gestures frantically towards the phone in her hand; without waiting for an answer, Marley ducks into the bathroom. "What's up? Did something big happen?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you don't normally call me in the middle of the day, so I'm guessing something big happened."

Quinn laughs. "Very perceptive. Yeah, something big did happen… I got a promotion."

"Quinn, that's amazing! Congratulations!"

"Thanks. Honestly, I'm still in shock… I haven't been working here long, and there were quite a few other people more qualified and experienced."

"You? Less qualified? Sure thing, Miss Masters from Columbia. I'm so proud of you." Marley tucks the phone under her chin. "So, tell me more about your promotion. Do you get a corner office? Personal coffee maker? Personal assistant?"

"I wish," says Quinn with a laugh. "It's more or less the same thing I do everyday except I get a modest salary increase, and people to oversee. I think you're more likely than I am to get that personal assistant. How's your album promo going?"

"It's going," replies Marley. "We're at Amoeba Music now. Trent's actually got a decent group of people here to see him. I'm trying not to let it all go to his head," she adds in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Sounds fun." There's some muffled voices in the background. "Sorry, Marley," says Quinn, "I have to go. My department's throwing me an impromptu lunch party and I may or may not have sneaked off to call you."

"I'm appalled. Thanks for abandoning your party to call, though. We'll Skype later?"

"Of course. Bye."

"Love you, Quinn. Bye."

She contemplates the phone for a long moment after, before tucking it back into her pocket.

* * *

Later that evening, Marley dials a number and waits for it to connect – which it does, after three rings.

"Oh, wow," drawls the voice on the other end. "It's little Marley Rose."

"Hi, Santana."

"What do you want? Shouldn't you be like, partying with all the drunk rappers and snorting coke off a hooker's buttcheeks now, instead of phoning home like some sad sack?"

Marley sniggers. "Why can't I be doing all three?" Pushing Santana's buttons is always risky, but commenting that her insults seem to be congruent with Rachel's interests would be an instant death sentence.

"Fair. I repeat, what do you want?"

"Some time ago, I remember you saying that if I needed to talk, I can give Auntie 'Tana a call…"

"Oh fuck no."

"Santana."

"That was a moment of weakness! You can't hold something like that against me!"

Marley tucks the phone more securely against her jaw, waiting patiently for Santana to finish her rant.

"... and I swear I will fly to Los fucking Angeles, just to show you the true power of Snix. You hear me, Rosie?"

"Yep. Anyway, I was just calling to ask if you had any luck with your album."

"Oh, that's old news. We hustled until we broke even, and then called it a day. I'm working on my next one now."

"Santana, that's amazing." Marley pauses. "Wait. How long have you been working on new songs?"

"Couple of months?"

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Hey, my producer upped and moved to Los _fucking_ Angeles. What did you think I was gonna do, cling on to a long-distance relationship?"

Marley frowns. "Not cool," she says tightly.

"... Sorry," says Santana, and she can practically visualise the expression Santana gets when she apologises to someone who's not Rachel; like all her teeth are being pulled at once. "That was a low blow. But, you gotta agree, you're more or less dead to me." She chuckles suddenly. "Hey, that had a ring to it."

"I can still help with arrangements and lyrics. You can email me your demos, and I could look them over in my free time."

"Rosie, you 'look over' shitty demos for a living. Now you're telling me you wanna look over awesome demos for free? I know life there is boring without us, but that's just pathetic."

"Hear me out." She adjusts her grip on the phone. "You know who I'm working for, right?"

"Duh."

"If I was awesome enough to work with you while still an intern, imagine how much more awesome I would be as a producer they flew out to LA."

"That's assuming you were ever awesome in the first place, Rosie," says Santana, her tone warm. "True, though."

"So, what do you say?"

"I say that there's still a major part of the puzzle missing. You're scheming something, and trust me, I know all about scheming. I wrote the book on it."

"You got me." Marley tries to keep the amusement out of her voice. "Although I hope your scheming powers have gotten better since high school."

"... Oookay, which dirt did Preggo dish?"

"I'm not telling. How do you even know it was Quinn, anyway? Like, you _do_ realise there were other people in Glee we had in common?"

"Ugh, fine. Back to the point; you tell me what's going on in that little head of yours, and I decide if I wanna play along. _Capisce_?"

"Fine. I guess I do owe you that much, at least."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Unwritten Letter #1_ by Vienna Teng.


	11. Part Ten

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I have survived the hell season of real life. Apparently, writing fluff is the natural counter for stress, which explains why this chapter is 70% fluff, 20% plot, and 10% smut. With credits to my writing buddy _**curionenene,**_ who helped push this chapter to completion.

For M, who got me into fanfiction into the first place. One year on doesn't make it easier.

* * *

 **Part Ten:** _Somethin' in you put a hold on my heart_

* * *

Santana, to her credit – and in spite of her violent protestations – is a good listener. She 'mmhmm's and 'okay's periodically throughout Marley's explanation, only butting in to ask good questions and confirm facts.

"You got this all thought out," she says carefully, when Marley finally finishes talking.

She's not sure if it's a compliment or a rebuke. "Yeah?"

"Chill. It's a good thing. This is a huge enterprise you're talking about." Santana snorts, loudly and abruptly. "Except, you know, for one small thing."

"What?"

"That it's not gonna work."

Dread trickles through her veins. "... What?"

Santana sighs. "Come on, don't sound like I just drop-kicked your puppy. Look, Rosie… I'm gonna be completely straight with you. Ironic as that is."

Marley chuckles weakly.

"Me and Q, we're both cynical bitches who can count on each other to be real. But you and Rachel, you two are the kinds of people who, well, see everything as being full of sunshine and magic and fucking rainbows." She sighs. "It's not a bad thing. I keep Rachel from getting herself into too much trouble, and she occasionally helps me see that sometimes the world isn't as fucking bleak as it is. Shit just works out."

"Your plan isn't gonna work 'cause it's way too much on the sunshine and magic side of life," continues Santana.

"... You're saying it's too idealistic."

"Give yourself a gold star if you haven't already got one! Yeah, that's exactly what I said."

Marley's grip on the phone tightens. "Why? I don't understand. I thought through every bit of this."

"Look, it's not really your fault the world is a horrible place that eats you for breakfast and then washes you down with a bunch of orphans and kittens. The truth is, real life doesn't work out as you want it to." When Marley doesn't immediately respond, Santana continues: "Okay, Rosie; your plan was for you to work with me on a couple more songs. Producing, lyrics, whatever mojo you've picked up as a legit record producer. You get my work noticed at Atlantic LA, they'll want to sign me to the label. I'm getting everything right so far?"

"Yeah."

"They'll want to fly me out to LA to start recording my album, but I won't want to uproot my life, which hey – they don't give a flying fuck, because they've got Atlantic Records right there in NY. So all they need to do is to get the East Coast branch to do it. What better person than the one who discovered Santana Lopez in the first place? And would you look at that? The _chica_ wants to go back to New York too! You keep your awesome job, you get to go back to New York to be with Q, and I get the fame and fortune I deserve."

"What's so bad about that?" demands Marley.

"First of all, Rosie. Marley. You're assuming they love my work enough to sign me to the label."

"Why shouldn't they? You're talented, Santana."

"You also assume they'll agree to your demands to fly you back here. The whole reason why you're out there is because they didn't have a vacancy in the city, Rosie. What are the chances they'll make one because I'm so valuable they'll do anything I say?"

Marley chews on her bottom lip, and doesn't reply.

"Flying people back and forth costs money," continues Santana, relentless. "Even if they – by some holy miracle of flying bacon – sign me, why can't they just get one of their New York people to produce me? Why fly someone, who was employed only because some high-up executive got a boner for her, back where their office is already stuffed full of experienced, potentially competent producers?"

"Enough, okay? I got it." Marley slides low on the couch. "I get it. It's not gonna work."

"It's shitty, but real life _is_ shitty." Santana sighs. "Hey, look on the bright side; you're better at accepting reality than Rachel is. I lost count of the number of times she made me sleep on the couch just because I try and tell her there's no way Broadway is gonna inhale the magic pollen overnight and fire the current Jasmine." She snickers suddenly. "But I might be convinced to plant magic pollen in her dressing room…"

"Santana!" exclaims Marley, scandalised.

"I'm kidding!"

"I hope so…" She heaves another long, drawn-out sigh. "Well… back to the drawing board."

"Hey. You alright, Rosie?"

"Yeah. I will be. Thanks, Santana, for the – uh – shot of reality." Marley rubs at the bridge of her nose.

"Anytime," says Santana with more warmth than most people think beyond her. "A word of advice? From someone older and thus way more awesome about the mysteries of life?"

She can't help the smile that creeps over her face. Santana is going out of her way to be nice – which is something the Santana in high school would never have done – and it reminds Marley that there's a reason she counts Santana as one of her closest friends. "Please share your wisdom."

"Life isn't magical," says Santana, "at least, not in that Disney sing-an-empowering-song-and-all-your-dreams-come-true sense. With fairy sprinkles on top. You have to adjust your ideas of what magic is, before you go out and make your own magic."

"... While that made sense, it also sounded like something the parent in a Disney movie would say."

"Yeah? I blame the hobbit for that." She doesn't sound particularly annoyed, though, so Marley shrugs and makes non-committal sounds in the phone.

"Well, as entertaining as this has been, I gots places to be. It's been real, Rosie," says Santana.

"Sure. Thanks for everything," she says, and Santana makes this disbelieving noise before hanging up.

* * *

It's never a good sign when your boss calls you into his office for no apparent reason. Marley can't help but fidget all the way through the offices, in the hallways, and finally into his office space. "You wanted me, Mr Jessup?"

"Yes, Rose. Have a seat."

She does.

"I have the numbers here for Trent Morgan's album sales," he says, holding up the paper. "They're looking good, so far. Great work for a rookie, especially one fresh out of college with zero experience."

"Thank you, sir."

"I took the liberty of listening to your work as well, and it sounds good. I was taking a big risk, flying you all the way here from the East Coast, but Andrew assured me it was worth my time. I'm glad I listened to him."

"Thank you, sir."

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Relax. I'm not gonna fire your ass back to New York, if that's what you're afraid of. In fact, I called you in to tell you what a good job you're doing, and then inform you you're going on tour."

"... Excuse me?"

"Not you, per se. The record store tour went well. We want to capitalise on that, make sure Trent's everywhere. While I don't think he's ready for an international tour yet, I think a small regional tour might be good publicity. No, a state tour, maybe Phoenix too, that sort of thing." He slides a piece of paper across his desk to her. "Go look for Tom. Get him to do the legwork, and he'll tell you what else you need to do to prep Trent."

She takes the paper. "Yes, sir."

* * *

While he isn't exactly freaking out, Trent doesn't take the news calmly either. "A tour?" he whisper-shouts, pacing the studio. "Me! Trent Morgan, touring?"

"Yep," replies Marley. "They love you, and we wanna capitalise on that."

"A tour!"

She chuckles. "It's not sold out stadiums and legions of screaming fans, just so you know. We're talking… mall performances. Album signings. Maybe renting out community centres to perform."

He turns gleaming eyes on her. "Still! This is everything I've dreamed of as a kid!"

Marley is entertained by his excitement. "And it's coming true."

"Oh yeah."

"So, back to the sound stage for rehearsals."

He grins, but she can tell his heart really isn't in it. But he salutes her as he shoulders his guitar, and slopes off.

Marley's phone pings with an email. It's from someone called 'snixxxy', and there's a MP3 file attached. She calls Santana.

"A MP3? Really?"

"What? You said you wanted to look over awesome demos for free." She can practically hear the smirk in Santana's voice.

"Yes, but… a lossy file isn't exactly the best demo. And I thought you shot down my plan."

"I'm so sorry I can't like, physically mail you a hard drive that has an uncompressed file. Or, as you do, import you into the studio to listen to me sing." Santana's voice loses its edge, as does her sarcasm. "Maybe I just want you to hear it. Maybe I like having your input on my music. Is that not okay?"

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't think…"

"Oh relax. I was joking." And she's back to sounding like her usual self. "I'm going for the solo artiste route anyway, so I was just looking for opinions. Even Rachel didn't get to hear that yet."

Marley sighs. "Santana, I really am sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that."

"Oh, I have to stop you there," she interrupts, "because it sounds like you're gonna have feelings over the phone at me, and that's something I do not suffer willingly. Rach! Babe! Do you have a minute?" The last is muffled, yelled away from the phone. There's more muffled words, then a wet smacking sound, before Rachel's voice filters over the line.

"Hello?"

"Marley! Hi!" Rachel sounds as bubbly as ever. "How's everything? I heard your artist's album is going well!"

"Good. Yeah, it is; we should be going on a small tour to promote it. Which sounds a lot more fun than it actually is, because I have a lot of stuff to prepare for it."

"Oh. Well, I have full confidence that you'll pull it off… Santana is being very unsubtle about… you have feelings? _What on Earth are you talking about?_ " Rachel trails off uncertainly as she confers with her girlfriend out of Marley's earshot. Marley waits.

"Okay, back." Rachel pauses, and says: "According to Santana, you were almost mean, which she finds astonishing since people like you and I don't possess a mean bone in our entire bodies." She pauses again. "You more than me. Because apparently I have a cruel and unusual streak." The last part is said loudly, seemingly more for Santana than for her.

"...okay?"

Rachel's voice softens. "Marley? I got her to go away. She's gone. Now, what's _really_ on your mind?"

"Not much. Work, everyday life, my friends. What to buy for dinner tonight."

Rachel hums thoughtfully. "Quinn's doing fine, in case you wanted to know. We had her over for dinner the other night."

"That's good." Marley already feels her cheeks flushing. "I, uh, this wasn't really about Quinn."

"I know," replies Rachel, all chipper. "That was just so you wouldn't have to ask later."

"Um, thanks, Rachel."

"Don't mention it."

"... How's your musical?" asks Marley, thoughts momentarily derailed.

"My musical? You…" She can almost hear Rachel struggling over the phone, thousands of miles away. "It's going swimmingly. Someday, they'll recognise my talent and install me as the permanent Jasmine. Or, better; when Jesse's new workshop finds funding and we get off the ground."

"I've heard about that, Quinn mentioned it in passing."

"Oh, wonderful! It's top secret, of course, but you're far away enough that it hardly matters. Jesse spent a year looking for a female lead, and he told me I was the only one suitable for the part. I have a really good feeling that this could be my breakthrough role."

"I really hope it is," Marley tells her sincerely.

"And now we're done prevaricating, let's talk about you. Why did you call Santana in the first place?"

Marley casts about for a nice way to explain it, and comes up short. "She, uh, she sent me a demo of a song she's working on."

"Oh. Yeah, she's been working on that for a while, all secretive with her laptop and headphones. I've respected her artistic need to create solo, though I've told her that she's always free to ask an experienced songwriter like myself for any assistance."

"Ohkay…" Marley falters briefly. "Uh, I didn't react as well as I should have. I just came out of a conversation with this artist whose album I produced, and the label wants to send him on tour."

"That's great!" says Rachel. "Wait, you're going on tour too?"

"No. My work officially ends when the album's out in the stores. But I need to help Trent adjust some of his songs for stripped-down, acoustic renditions; maybe rearrange some other songs for 'impromptu' covers."

"That sounds interesting! Is he the only one you're working with right now?"

"Yes, but that's actually not normal. But right now we're in a bit of a rut. All the other albums currently in the works are nearing the end, and my boss doesn't think I should be jumping on last minute and messing with the other engineers' flow. So essentially, I have a bit of a break."

"... Does this have anything to do with why you didn't react well to Santana's song?"

Marley sighs. "A little."

"I sense a story."

Marley sighs again, heavier this time. "Do you have five minutes?"

"Of course. I don't need to be at the theater for the matinee until three. I'm all yours," says Rachel, suddenly more bubbly than Marley thinks possible.

She relates her plan and Santana's reaction in detail. Rachel listens in complete silence.

"... and she said she just wanted my opinion on it," finishes Marley.

Rachel sighs. "As much as every fibre in my being wants to disagree with her… she's right. The world is blind and deaf – what other reason could there be for my not having received my Tony yet? This year is my deadline year, and I'm still an understudy!"

"Uh, okay?"

"But there's a lot to be said for putting yourself out there, you know," says Rachel, her strident tone softening. "We audition, we get shot down countless times. My nose is too big, I'm too ethnic, I'm too short. When I finally got a place standing in the background onstage, swaying and harmonising, I was _thrilled_." Rachel's voice gains fire. "Anyway – my point is; nothing ventured, nothing gained. Santana may think nothing will come out of sending her work to you, but what's important is that it's out there."

"I see," says Marley carefully. Despite Santana's cynicism, Rachel's words have revived some of her optimism.

"Besides, didn't _you_ use to write songs yourself?"

Marley blinks in surprise; then remembers Rachel can't see her. "Uh – yes, I did."

"Weren't they good? I recall Mercedes saying that she was really impressed by them. Blaine, Sam, and Tina have all told me the same at one point or another."

"I, well, I haven't written anything for a while," Marley mutters. She deliberately fails to mention the one or two pieces she dabbled with in between studio sessions, and shelved."I submitted them to a few contests and never heard anything back. I supposed they weren't as good as I thought they were."

"Nonsense," scolds Rachel. "Songwriting contests are honestly not the best judge of talent. Do you think Taylor Swift would have become – well, _Taylor Swift_ – if she'd given up when her demo tapes got rejected?"

"I'm not – you don't even know what they sound like," says Marley.

"How about a little _quid pro quo_? I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Do you know that the National Show Choir committee has a YouTube account? Go search the Midwestern Regionals 2011 tag," commands Rachel.

"Wait, wait." It takes a while for her to boot up her work laptop, but eventually she finds the video Rachel wants. Marley watches as Rachel sings her solo, and then New Directions' group performance. She can't take her eyes off Quinn (even though she's sure that's not what Rachel intended when she told Marley to watch the videos). She looks so young; all her friends look so young, it's disconcerting.

And even though it's a high school show choir performance, Marley finds the energy and enthusiasm radiating from New Directions remarkable. She understands now what binds Finn, Rachel, and the others together, what they meant when they talked about the group having something special.

"Are you done?"

Rachel's voice filters back into her ear. "Uh, yeah," says Marley.

"What do you think?"

"That was really good, although the glitter slushies were a little extra."

"Hey, we were seventeen," Rachel defends herself, "they were an ironic statement. Also, I wrote those two songs."

"You did?"

"Yep. Now…" Marley hears the clicking of computer keys over the line. "You wrote songs that were performed too, right? Regionals?"

"Yes," she says, a tad grumpily. "And neither of us are pursuing a career in songwriting, so the similarity continues."

"Grumpiness doesn't become you."

"So that's another career option off the list."

"Neither does sarcasm," says Rachel, but she sounds amused. "Now hush. I would like to watch these performances."

So Marley sits back in her chair and waits. She kind of wishes Santana hadn't passed the phone to Rachel, because it really feels like she's getting a lecture.

"That was amazing, Marley," says Rachel at last. "There's definitely a lot of potential there."

"Thanks."

"Since you don't really have any projects on your plate at the moment, I feel like this is a golden opportunity to explore that talent of yours." Rachel sounds so excited, Marley doesn't have the heart to continue trying to be sarcastic. "As good as I am in songwriting, I've never loved it as much as I love performing onstage, therefore it was the natural choice to leave _Get It Right_ as the height of my brief career. However, you don't love the performing side of music as much as I do, correct?"

"Yeah," says Marley. She's talked about this recently, but before Quinn, this is a topic of conversation that rarely sees light of day.

"So what's stopping you?"

"I'm not paid to write songs."

"I hardly think your boss is gonna fire you for writing songs. On the contrary, it might help you in future projects. Composing music, writing lyrics, singing, creating a polished album track…. does a phrase like 'triple threat' exist for the music production side?"

"I think you can coin one when I actually can do all the stuff you listed," replies Marley dryly.

Rachel huffs. "I know you're not Quinn nor Santana, but I can't help but feel like you're not taking me seriously."

"Look, Rachel… it's a lot to take in one go," she says. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Fair enough." There's some rustling in the background. "I'm about due for my afternoon coffee, anyway. It was good talking to you, Marley."

"Thanks, Rachel. It was good talking to you too, even if I don't sound like it."

Rachel giggles. "Trust me, you were fine. One puts up with more than one's fair share of attitude when one dates Santana Lopez."

* * *

She absolutely was not taken in by Rachel Berry's indefatigable optimism. Not a smidgen. That's why Marley is seated in front of her laptop, surrounded by paper, GarageBand open on the screen.

She sighs, dragging her hand down her face. This feels exactly like college, except she doesn't have to pay through the nose for this, and there won't be a professor chewing her out if she doesn't have a complete song at the end of the day.

Marley can't even remember what it was that she used to do, back in school, to get her inspiration. Was it Elvis? Listening to the radio? Reading her angsty teenage diaries? Wavering between two teenage boys?

Flopping backwards, she toys with one of the default looping beats on GarageBand, tweaking it until she can find something that holds her attention for more than a hot minute. Everytime she finds something that might have potential, Marley loses interest, and saves it for another time.

"This isn't working," she mutters to herself. Marley stands up, stretches, grabs her phone.

Quinn's phone rings to voicemail; Marley tries not to let herself be disappointed. It's the middle of the day, and Quinn must be busy in the office. Marley tucks her phone back into her pocket and heads out.

* * *

Unlike the distinct change of seasons in New York, Los Angeles always seems to be hot. Sunglasses are a staple of her wardrobe now, together with her hats.

Griffith Observatory is deserted at this time of day. She wanders around the grounds, and eventually winds up at the lookout point.

 _Standing side-by-side was too far away. Marley moves behind Quinn, so she can put her chin on Quinn's shoulder, head tilted to rest against Quinn's neck. She smiled wide when she felt Quinn relax into her._

 _They continued to watch, enraptured, as the sunset's orangey-purple glow slipped below the horizon. Darkness painted the city in increasingly broader strokes, just as city lights twinkled in counterpoint._

" _Being here with you made it so much more awesome," said Marley, and turned her face to kiss Quinn's neck._

 _Quinn shifted. Marley's next kiss was intercepted by lips, and a warm hand holding her steady. It was an awkward angle, but she wasn't about to stop kissing Quinn because of something trivial like muscle cramps._

 _Quinn broke the kiss. "This is so awkward," she complained._

" _No, it isn't," replied Marley. She tightened her hold on Quinn's waist, planting playful kisses all over Quinn's face, neck, jaw; wherever she could reach. Quinn attempted to squirm out of her grip, laughing helplessly._

" _Stop!" she demanded in between laughter._

" _Make me!"_

 _Somehow, she did. Quinn slipped out of Marley's arms with a fluidity that stunned her; while Marley was still processing this turn of events, Quinn caught her face in both hands, and kissed her. Marley kissed back, incapable of doing anything else._

" _How did you…?" She managed eventually._

" _One of the perks of middle school gymnastics, and high school cheerleading." Quinn pecked her lips again, a devilish smirk spreading over her face. "Made you stop."_

 _Marley rolled her eyes in her best imitation of Quinn, and looped her arms back around Quinn to continue where they left off._

The memory makes her smile. It also makes her ache in longing – and brings a thought to mind: that there's enough poetry in this to write a song.

Marley laughs to herself. She's certainly written more with less, thanks to teenage angst. Her hand goes into her messenger bag, withdrawing pen and notebook; booping up the brim of her hat, she starts to write.

* * *

With two weeks to go before the tour, she and Trent are in the studio nearly every hour of the day. Between the two of them, they've knocked out a setlist and encores – with instrumentation – with even a few covers of popular songs for fun.

"So, Marley, I was thinking…" As he talks, he places both hands on the body of the instrument, pillowing his head on his hands.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you could, like, share one of your songs with me."

She almost falls out of her chair. "My what now?"

He grins at her. "Oh, yeah, pull one over the country boy, right? We're practically living in each other's pockets these days; ain't no way I won't notice if there's stuff I didn't write floating around."

"Um." She flushes pink. "I didn't mean for anyone to hear that… nothing's done, it's all bits and pieces."

"You kiddin' me? It's good! I'm glad I got to hear it. You've got talent oozing out of you."

She wrinkles her nose as he laughs. "That sounds… less than pleasant, though I appreciate the sentiment. Thanks, Trent."

"You can thank me by sharing your stuff proper. No more lurking in empty studios, having to stay late after work to look it over…"

She catches her lower lip between her teeth. She knows how talented Trent is – she's produced his album, she's worked with him through the entire creative process – and anyone with any music knowledge would be scrambling for the chance to work with him. "I don't want to distract you from your tour prep…"

Trent waves a dismissive hand. "Naw. We're all but done. I'd be happy to help out, especially after all the stuff _you've_ done for _me_."

Marley snorts. "That's my job, Trent."

"Mixing the stuff that goes on my album is your job. Sitting up with me to get that melody right, reworking the lyrics where they got clunky, providing background vocals 'cause the studio and session people didn't have the right sound… Fetching black coffee 'cause dairy is bad for my voice." He raises an eyebrow.

"I get it," she says hastily. Trent grins at her. "Your first album is my first album too; I just wanted to make sure it was a hit."

"And it is," he says. "So whaddya say? We jam a little?" He holds out a hand. "And that means that notebook you're always scribbling your stuff in, too."

"You drive a hard bargain," says Marley, and they laugh.

If she has to be honest with herself, though, she's nervous. Her hands shake ever-so-slightly as she fishes the book out of the bag, hands it to him. Marley's only felt this exposed once before; in her darkened bedroom in Lima, with Quinn's hungry gaze washing over her unclothed body.

Trent smiles to himself as he scans the rough guitar tabs sketched on the paper. "I thought you were mostly a GarageBand kind of gal," he says.

"Hey, I know a bit of guitar, okay? Basic instrumentation is essential for any music producer." Marley's fingers trace the edges of the paper. "Besides, this felt like a guitar kind of song."

He props the notebook on a stand and takes up his guitar, picking out the melody. Trent turns the notes into arpeggios as he picks out harmonies; then chords, humming along the entire while. "This is nice."

"Thanks," she says, blushing hot. "There are… the next page has lyrics."

The musician nods in time to the music. "Sing," he commands.

And she only hesitates a moment before she complies.

 _Does anybody see beyond the trees  
Does anybody get across the sea  
I was traveling to where I can't recall  
I can't get back to you now_

"That's as far as I've gotten," says Marley, suddenly shy again.

Trent cocks his head to one side. With his fringe falling in his eyes, he resembles Sam, except with a touch more of golden retriever. "It's a good start," he says at last. "It's not a snippet, or a project, or anything. It will be a _song_. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," replies Marley, slowly returning his smile. "I really think I do."

* * *

By the time they tear themselves out of the studio, Marley's bursting to the seams with excitement. She has a complete song, a honest-to-goodness _song_ , that she hasn't been this excited about since high school. It feels phenomenal. It feels like falling in love, almost; the swooping of her stomach, her heart full to bursting with emotions.

She's too excited to keep it all inside. In the short space between getting into her car and starting the engine, Marley drops a quick text to Quinn. She rests her hands on the wheel, humming to herself.

The call comes through just a few minutes later. Marley hits the speaker button, and drops the phone on the passenger seat. "Hey!" she says brightly, stepping on the gas.

"Hi. You sound distant. What are you doing?"

"Going home?"

Quinn gives this little outraged gasp that would make Marley smile if she didn't already have the feeling she's in serious trouble. "Marley Rose, are you driving and talking on the phone?"

"No! I texted you just before I started the car, and then I put it on speaker before I started." Her voice drops the panicked note. "You know I would never do that."

There's a soft sigh, and then Quinn's saying, "I _do_ know. I'm sorry, I was thinking the worst…"

"It's okay. I'm sorry, I should've realised what that would sound like…" She pauses to focus on taking the exit onto the main road. "I wasn't thinking. My head was full of everything that happened today, and the big news I wanted to share with you."

"Yeah, your big news," says Quinn, sounding more enthusiastic now. "What was it that had you so happy? I've never seen so many emojis used in a single text before today."

She can't help it. She starts singing, tapping her hand on the wheel to keep the beat. When she's done, silence fills the car.

"Wow," says Quinn eventually, "that was amazing. Trent wrote this?"

"Actually, I did. Trent helped me with the arrangement and guitar and some of the lyrics, but I wrote the rest." And it feels good to say that, so much that Marley wonders how she's gone this long without writing music. It feels like the first gulp of air after being underwater.

"You wrote that? I – that's amazing. I don't know what else to say; that was beautiful." Quinn sounds excited. "Are you gonna record that? Please tell me you'll record that."

"Of course I will. I'll even get Trent to play guitar and GarageBand to play – well, everything else." She loves that Quinn sounds just as excited as she feels. "I'll send you a proper MP3 and all."

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you sing. I know you can, of course – " Marley laughs out loud, " – but I didn't know you could write songs, too. On top of the whole, you know, being a music producer thing, and being scouted to work at _Atlantic Records_." Quinn pauses, and when she next speaks, her voice is soft and fond and warm; it's something Marley's glad distance can't erase. "I had no idea just how talented you are. I love that I'm still only beginning to find out."

Marley blinks hard to stop the tears from welling. Before she gets too choked up, before how much she's missing Quinn starts to manifest as a physical pain, she brushes at her eyes and says: "Wait 'til you see me on the dancefloor. I have _sick_ moves; sick in the sense that you'd want to put the animal down."

Quinn chuckles. "I'm sure that's not true. You're just as much a triple threat as Rachel is, although I'm not sure she can be trusted with the button and dial end of the recording studio."

"Try me."

"The next time you're home," answers Quinn brightly, and Marley's heart swells to hear the word from Quinn's lips. "Around Christmas, right?"

"And not any sooner, I'm afraid. I miss you already."

"I miss you, too." There's rustling on Quinn's end.

"What's that?"

"My dinner. Halley bought Chinese takeout for everyone. It's…" There's more rustling as Quinn opens the container. "Beef in black bean sauce. What a classic."

Right on cue, Marley's stomach growls. She winces. "Right. Food."

"You haven't had dinner?" asks Quinn, voice suddenly sharp.

"... I totally forgot, being in the studio with Trent, and we were in the zone." She sheepishly signals left, and exits her road. "I'm going to buy food now."

"Marley."

"Yes, I know. I normally have cereal bars in my bag for emergencies, but I've been so busy that I forgot to replenish my stock." Lead seeps through her veins, bringing the exuberant mood of the day low.

There's a pause, then: "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart," says Quinn gently. "We make mistakes, and I know you're beating yourself up way too hard about this one."

The corners of her mouth tick upward at the rarely-used endearment. "I just feel bad that I forgot." She pulls into the parking lot outside Ralph's and kills the engine, picking up the phone. "I'm going in. It's a good thing it's not that late."

"Pick up groceries for the next few days while you're at it," commands Quinn. "Send me a photo of everything you bought, and call me when you're done?"

"Of course." Marley ends the call, and turns her attention to the groceries. She buys plenty of fresh fruit so she won't feel guilty about not eating healthy, and the staples. She promises herself she'll cook this weekend, and buys ingredients for then. And just because she can, Marley buys a double scoop of strawberry cheesecake ripple from the ice cream place nearby.

She spreads everything out in the back seat of her car, and then angles herself so her groceries, her ice cream, and her grin fits into the photo.

Quinn video calls her barely a minute after she sends the photo. "Ice cream before dinner? Jumping ahead of yourself, aren't you?" she says, but her eyes crinkle at the sides and give her away.

Marley licks her ice cream with a flourish, and aims the phone at a large sandwich. "My stomach won't even know which came first. Chicken and egg scenario, all over again. It's foolproof."

"A fair point." It's bright enough in the parking lot that Marley is sure she's visible. Quinn looks like she's seated at the dining table in her apartment. There's her takeout container of beef in front of her, she has her hair up in a messy bun, and she's wearing her glasses.

"You look beautiful."

Quinn snorts. "I look tired."

"Long day in the office?"

"You could say that." Quinn's hand appears from outside the frame to rub at the bridge of her nose, under her glasses. "I won't bore you with the details right now, but suffice to say… there was way too much time wasted on discussions in corporate meetings that could have been resolved with an email."

Marley makes a face. "Yeah, that sounds like it sucks majorly. I'm sorry that happened."

"Me too." The frown fades from Quinn's face, transforming it. "I'm happy your day was much more productive than mine, though. Call me the instant you record your song. I can't wait to hear it."

"Will do," says Marley, laughing.

* * *

By the time she's showered and dressed in her pajamas, most of the adrenaline has run out, and Marley feels about ready to collapse. But before she falls asleep, she indulges herself in one last thing. Lying on her side, she places the phone on the pillow beside her.

Quinn picks up the video call within a few rings. Her surroundings are dimmer, and Marley recognises the corner of a print Quinn's got hanging behind her bed. "Hey again. What's up?"

"Nothing much. I called to say I'm about to go sleep, and wanted to know if you were already asleep." Marley's face creases into a frown. "Wait. You're three hours ahead, aren't you? So that means it's like, one in the morning? Isn't it late for you?"

"Isn't it a bit early for _you_ to be in bed?" Quinn fires back.

"One of those days, y'know," says Marley, smiling.

"I get it. And yeah, it _is_ a little late for me; I was going through a manuscript, and lost track of time." She takes off her glasses as she speaks; the image shakes as Quinn moves to put it somewhere out of the frame. "You caught me just before I was about to turn in."

"I have excellent timing, and a sixth sense."

A smile curves Quinn's lips. "So you do."

"Put the phone to your ear, and tuck yourself in," says Marley. "You can turn off the video call mode."

"So demanding." But the screen goes back to Marley's regular wallpaper – a candid photo of Quinn outside the Griffith Observatory – and Marley gets under the covers too.

"I'm tucking you in now."

A soft giggle. "Okay."

For the second time today, Marley sings for Quinn; this time, it's in hushed tones, more intimate, for Quinn's ears only.

 _When everybody filled me up with pride_

 _I was only looking for a place to hide_

 _I am no statue a monument to raise_

 _But I try my best these days_

 _Funny how time doesn't mind_

 _Who we keep and who we bear to leave behind_

 _So into this great unknown_

 _I will wander on my own_

 _Will I ever stop imagining_

 _What if I've done things differently_

 _And will you find it a corner in your heart_

 _For me long after we part_

 _Long after we part_

When she's done, there's nothing on the other end but the muted sound of Quinn's breathing. Marley smiles, whispers a "goodnight", and ends the call. Her fingers stay curled around the phone as she closes her eyes.

* * *

No matter how much of a creative roll they're on, no matter how deep she's in the zone with her creating, Marley begs off at five o'clock on Saturday. She's home (after a quick stop along the way for some things she forgot in her last grocery run) by half past six, and her phone's already lighting up.

"Hey!" says Marley brightly, putting the call on speaker. "I just got home!"

"Hi. That's good, so did I."

"So… stir-fry."

"Stir-fry it is." Quinn hums in agreement. When she next speaks, her voice sounds distant, and there's a lot of rummaging going on in the background. "I've got… peppers, celery, cabbage, carrots, chicken, noodles, eggs…"

"Bacon?" asks Marley, smirking as she removes a pack from her freezer.

Quinn huffs. "We've already got chicken."

"Bacon goes with everything," says Marley, fake-innocent. "Imagine all those veggies soaking up the meaty flavours."

"You're terrible."

"So terrible," agrees Marley. She turns on the tap as she rinses the vegetables. "I've got my iPad out. Shall we switch to Skype?"

"Sure."

She wipes her hands on the dishtowel and logs into Skype. She waits impatiently for the green light next to **QFabray** to go on, signalling she's online; once it changes, Marley places the call.

"Hi again," says Quinn, smiling from the small screen of the tablet.

"Back atcha," says Marley, pointing a finger gun at the screen; Quinn groans and rolls her eyes theatrically, still smiling. "Ready to cook dinner?"

"Of course." Quinn reaches out to adjust the angle of the device on her end; the image wavers wildly. When it finally stabilises, Marley sees a familiar kitchen, with groceries on the counter surrounding a cutting board.

"Did you pick up the Korean _gochujang_ I was telling you about?" Marley holds up the small tub towards the camera.

"I did. I had a taste earlier; it's amazing. How'd you discover that?" Quinn pulls her own tub of _gochujang_ into the frame.

"We're really spoilt for choice when it comes to lunchtime. I went out for Korean with Trent and Gabe – that's one of the other audio engineers – the other day. Gabe's Korean, and he was waxing lyrical about this miracle seasoning." Marley dips her pinky into the tub and pops it into her mouth.

"I'm kind of excited for dinner now." Quinn starts chopping up cabbage into strips. Marley follows suit.

"Me too. I miss cooking with you." She dumps a handful of cabbage into the colander, and reaches for a carrot.

"Yeah. This is pretty fun, though." When Quinn leans forward to take more vegetables out of the sink, something silver glitters at her neck. She absently tucks it back into the neck of her T-shirt, like it's happened many times over the course of the day to be completely unremarkable now.

Marley smiles to herself.

As nonchalantly as she can, Marley rinses off the cutting board. She retrieves the mostly-thawed bacon from the sink and cuts open the plastic. She starts slicing the meat, deliberately not looking at the iPad until she hears Quinn's low, amused chuckle.

"You're really the worst."

"As though you didn't have your own stash hidden from me?" ripostes Marley, and laughs hard when Quinn sheepishly puts a few slices of bacon on her cutting board. "I knew it."

"I need to finish these leftovers before they go bad," says Quinn, smiling too wide for it to be natural.

"Whatever you say." She has a chicken breast left to cut up; she hesitates, before slicing the entire piece of meat into neat strips. Marley won't worry about eating too much, because that's not the kind of person she is anymore, and besides; stir-fry tastes just as good when left overnight.

Quinn's chicken is already cooked, and sits, shredded, in a little bowl. "Halley and Nicky cooked last night," she explains. While they both wrestle with the plastic packaging of their egg noodles, Quinn talks about her day. Marley listens intently; the microphone doesn't always pick up everything, and it's a long way from New York to Los Angeles over a Skype connection.

Marley likes to have her seasonings arranged within easy reach when she's cooking; it's stir-fry, and her mom's taught her that it tastes best when cooked over high heat and within a short time. Quinn is just as methodical, but with one crucial difference.

"The way you cook is so cute," says Marley, trying very hard not to smile at the array of little dishes in front of Quinn. "You measured out all the seasonings, didn't you?"

"Not all of us are blessed with a gift for cooking," says Quinn a little huffily. "Nor an instinct for knowing how much soy sauce is enough."

"That is such a Rachel thing to say."

"No, Rachel would be giving you a lecture on golden proportions and the importance of following the recipe to the letter." Quinn turns on the heat. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Marley sloshes peanut oil into her wok. Quinn does the same, although hers is more controlled. The garlic sizzles when it hits the hot oil, filling both kitchens with the sound. She tears her attention away from the iPad, focusing on the wok.

Onions go in next, followed by the meat. She grins when the bacon fat causes the wok to sizzle louder. She likes her carrots and celery on the crunchier side, so the harder vegetables aren't in for too long before the cabbage follows. She scrapes everything to one side so she can fry the _gochujang_ , adding more oil, before mixing everything together.

She alternates adding light and dark soy sauce, and pepper to taste, before she adds the egg noodles. Ralph's has a pretty decent Asian grocery selection, and so she opted for the fresh noodles rather than the dried ones.

Finally, she cracks an egg into the whole thing, tossing everything in the wok, before turning off the heat.

"Done," she says, scraping everything onto a plate. The wok goes into the sink to soak, and she fishes chopsticks out of the cutlery drawer. Marley sets up her dinner table, the iPad taking pride of place in front of her.

"Me too," says Quinn. Her food looks just as appetizing, and Marley tells her so. "Thanks. Yours looks really good, too. I wish I could have a bite."

"I'm sure mine tastes the same as yours; I mean, there's a reason we bought the same ingredients for the same dish," says Marley.

Quinn laughs. "Yeah, but there's a distinct difference in skill level."

"We can fix that, the next time I go back." Marley digs in, moaning a little as she chews. "Mmm. So. Good."

"It really is." Quinn dabs at the corner of her mouth with a bit of tissue. "This is becoming a staple of this kitchen."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"So, tell me about your tour. I thought it was just around town? Why did your boss decide to expand it?"

Marley takes a sip of her water. "It's not really my tour, though. The album sales got a boost from the record store tour, so he decided to take a chance on it and go regional. While it's still fresh in everyone's minds, I guess."

"Not your tour? But aren't you going?"

"Me? Nah. I'm just the producer; the only stuff I work on is the album recording. I did work with Trent for his setlist and acoustic tweaking, but that's only because I don't have any other projects on hand at the moment. That's also the only reason I went along on the local tour."

"Ah. I see." It's already hard as it is to gauge Quinn's expression; it's harder when it's on the small screen of her iPad. So Marley changes the subject, asks if she's read any good books (books, not manuscripts) lately.

Towards the end of dinner, Marley picks the last few morsels of food off her plate and says, "I've got a surprise for you."

Quinn looks momentarily surprised, and then her smile is warm and genuine. "Another surprise? Does it rhyme with 'hype plate'?"

Marley scowls at her. "Spoil my surprises, why don't you?"

"Not that I don't enjoy them, but you really do spoil me," says Quinn. "Skype dates are fun and creative any way you cut it, but cooking dinner together over Skype was honestly so much fun."

"Wait 'til I make my first million. Then the _real_ spoiling can begin," says Marley, deadpan. "Anyway, it's not really a surprise if you already know what it is."

Quinn arches an eyebrow at her. "I do?"

"Yeah." Marley attaches the file to an email draft, and hits the send button. She hears the echoing ping of an email client halfway across the country. "We finally finished it, and I cleaned it up."

There's a soft sigh, and Quinn busies herself with her device, expression caught between curiosity and dawning understanding. Marley hears Trent's guitar, and then herself, made tinny over distance. She doesn't need to listen to the music; she has it herself, in a multitude of forms in between the scratch version they worked on to the final finished MP3. Marley watches Quinn listen to the music, her eyes fluttering shut, body held in the attitude of listening.

Quinn looks like someone awakened from sleep when the music ends. "That was… it was even better than I thought it would be. Except…"

"Except?" asks Marley, heart catching in her throat.

"Except I think my favourite version would be the one you sang for me the other night." A cheeky smile slides over her face. "No offence to Trent and his guitar."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him." Marley folds her arms on the table, propping her chin up on them. "I'm glad you love it."

"I do. I love it so much. How did you… What was your inspiration?"

"I was at the Griffith Observatory the other day, and I thought of you," says Marley. "More specifically; us, that day. And I missed that."

"Oh, Marley."

"I'm a bit of a sap, I know," she says.

"That's not… it's incredibly sweet. You're incredibly sweet. I love it." Quinn's moved elsewhere, presumably her bed; judging from the familiar view behind her head. "I can't believe you took that memory, all those feelings, and turned them into a song."

"You're pretty inspirational," says Marley. "Rachel told me you inspired a song she wrote."

Quinn makes a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a choke. "She always tells that story."

"It's a nice story," defends Marley, "and now, I'm sure I'm in the same situation. It's true what they say about pretty girls and music, yeah?"

"Don't be such a dork," laughs Quinn. She rests her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands.

"It's too late; you're stuck with me now."

"Yeah." Quinn looks anything but resigned to her fate, however. "You're really something special, aren't you, Marley Rose?" she says, hazel eyes soft in the lamplight.

And it's not the first time she's heard such things, but she can't help the colour that seeps into her cheeks, and the grin that overtakes her face. "Only as special as whomever I'm dating at the moment."

* * *

Her schedule is pretty packed close to the end of the year, as per usual. There's the rush of people scrambling to clear up work before the city shuts down for the holidays, projects being postponed until the next year, Christmas albums and other seasonal productions being pushed out onto the market.

She's busy until it's the week before Christmas, and then she isn't. Marley cleans her apartment thoroughly and heads out to the airport, laden with gifts from Finn and Brittany for New York. She checks her car into long-term parking; she won't need it until next year, when her boss promised her she'll start on her new project with some band or other artist that's on the up and up – a reward of sorts, Marley supposes, after the test that was Trent Morgan.

All of that fades into background noise, however. It's the holidays, and she's headed home to Lima via New York. Her flight is on time, her seatmates keep to themselves, and her baggage is waiting on the carousel by the time she gets past LaGuardia immigration.

She falls into Quinn's arms, and her world finally starts to turn again.

* * *

When Marley – teasingly – suggests staying in a hotel for the duration of her time in New York, Quinn fixes her with the most withering, Sue Sylvester-esque glare that makes Marley squirm, and half-expect a slushie. "That's wasn't funny, Marley Rose," she says.

"It wasn't," agrees Marley. "So…? I'll be staying with you?"

"Of course." Here the cold glare leaves Quinn's eyes, edged out by affection. "The others can just deal."

"Would it be better if I cook for everyone? Earning my keep and all?"

Quinn grins. "Hell, I think they'll offer to put you up in their rooms." Her smile disappears. "Not that I'm up for sharing."

"I sure hope not," teases Marley.

The subway is crowded, and Marley thinks that she's been out of town far too long. She's spoilt by her own car and the warm West Coast sunshine; here, it's cold and wet and crowded, with no prospect of a seat all the way to Brooklyn.

Quinn seems to sense what's on her mind, because she grimaces and says: "Sorry – I forgot you aren't used to this crap anymore."

Marley elbows her lightly. "I resent that. I'm still a honorary New Yorker, okay."

"Seriously? Your elbowing needs more work." Quinn shoves her back, and they giggle.

It goes back and forth until the train lurches, and Marley has to grab onto the straps to save herself, bringing the play fight to an abrupt end. Quinn grabs onto her in turn, both giggling until they're breathless.

"Yep, what happened to your ability to balance in a crowded train?" says Quinn sardonically.

"You're one to talk. You're supposed to be more New Yorker than me." Marley nods down at Quinn's hand clinging onto the tail of her jacket. "And yet…"

" _You're_ the one who elbowed me in the first place!" Quinn exclaims. For some reason, that's unbelievably funny that they dissolve into giggling again, and they don't stop until the grumpy old man standing nearby clears his throat loudly.

* * *

When they finally arrive at Quinn's apartment, Marley's glad she opted for boots. They're easy to kick off, and so she does, speedily, making for the couch. She flops on her back, sighing exaggeratedly.

"You look comfortable."

Marley opens her eyes a fraction. "Don't just stand there; come find out just _how_ comfortable," she says, waving a hand in the direction of Quinn's voice.

"Sure, let me clean up your mess first."

Her eyes snap open in her indignation. "Lies. I am the perfect house guest."

Quinn shakes her head. Marley reaches out, makes grabbing motions. "Come here."

"You're impatient," Quinn says, looking not at all annoyed. She walks over to let herself be caught, and dragged closer.

"I've missed you," answers Marley simply.

She can see the exact moment Quinn melts, and the moment after that in which she realizes what's happened and tries to cover it up. "We talk all the time."

"That's not the same, and you know it. Now stop being so cutely standoffish and let me cuddle you." Marley punctuates her words with another tug.

Muttering something to herself about Marley's neediness and questionable vocabulary, Quinn puts a knee on the cushion beside Marley's thigh, her free hand on the back of the couch for support. Marley's hand goes to her elbow to pull her down, then around her waist to keep her there. "Perfect," says Marley, kissing Quinn's hair.

"Speak for yourself, my arm is squashed. We should've done this somewhere more comfortable and less… open."

Marley laughs. "What time will the others be home, again?"

"Too soon for us to start anything, if that's what you mean..."

She groans, mortified. "No! What I meant was… wait, were you making fun of me?"

Quinn buries her face in Marley's shirt to muffle her laughter. "Not initially, then I paused to think about what I'd just said. But after that, yes. It's fun to watch your face change like that."

"You initiated sex in my car, Miss Horndog. You understand if I have to think twice about anything suggestive you say," Marley huffs. "Anyway, I just want to be with you, without being… _with_ you, you know?" She rubs Quinn's shoulder, frustrated that the words she needs to express herself adequately aren't coming through.

"Strangely enough, because that was extremely eloquent and succinct – " Marley gives Quinn a long-suffering look, "– I do."

To pay her back, Marley says sarcastically: "Good we're on the same page, then; I knew there was an advantage in dating someone with a degree in _English_ – " and breaks off, grunting, when Quinn contorts her whole body to knee her. "Ow! First elbows, and now knees? This totally counts as abuse, okay."

"Abuse," echoes Quinn flatly. "From the woman who lured me here under false pretenses."

"Yeah, you got me. I totally lied about cuddling to get you into my clutches, so I could do… _this_!" And she digs her fingers into Quinn's sides, tickling her mercilessly.

Quinn is laughing too hard to fight back or even protest, and it's the timely return of Halley that saves her. "... Oh," says the other woman, one eyebrow rising so high it disappears under her _hijab_ , "... hi, Marley. Quinn. Not interrupting anything, am I...?"

"Nope." Marley stops, and mouths _let's take this to your bedroom_ to Quinn, grinning as Quinn splutters.

"... Right." Halley's other eyebrow joins the first. "Good to know. Uhm, welcome back to New York." And she disappears into her room.

Marley bursts out laughing. Quinn growls at her. "I hate you so much, right now," she bites out, pushing at Marley's chest.

"No, you don't." Marley catches Quinn's wrists, and pins them down, still laughing.

* * *

They go to Rachel's show the night before their flight to Lima (even if the actress playing Jasmine is annoyingly healthy, Rachel's still part of the ensemble), and Santana drags everyone out for drinks afterwards.

Marley doesn't drink a lot. Really, she has more fun watching Rachel become increasingly ebullient and Santana increasingly emotional. Quinn, on her part, is also less guarded when she's tipsy.

Somehow, they make it to Quinn's apartment in one piece. Still giggling about something funny Marley said, they stumble into Quinn's room; Quinn retains enough presence of mind to lock the door behind them.

"Finally," Marley says. She pats the mattress with a sigh, and sort of crumples on it.

"That looks uncomfortable."

"It's really not." She jerks her body so she can pull her head into a more natural position for gazing at Quinn. "So… is _now_ a good time to be starting something?" says Marley, arranging her face into her best hopeful expression.

Quinn bursts out laughing. "Please don't tell me you were fixated on that the whole day."

"I'm not drunk now, if that helps," answers Marley, unwilling to confirm or deny it.

Quinn's smile turns into a smirk. "It does," she says, grabbing Marley's ankles and pulling her feet off the bed, crawling in between her spread legs. Eagerly, Marley sits up so she can kiss Quinn. "Mmm." Her hands slide into Quinn's ponytail and destroy it completely, fingers teasing out her long blonde hair. Marley gasps when a hand rests on the inside of her leg; Quinn takes advantage of it to deepen the kiss, fingers hooking around Marley's scarf.

"I really like seeing this on you, but I kinda want it off right now."

Her hands fly behind her neck to fumble with the knot; Quinn laughs into the kiss, and puts enough distance between them to help. When it becomes apparent that Quinn is so much better at it than her, Marley turns her attention to Quinn's neckline – or more specifically, what lies just below.

Quinn's breathing turns heavy. "You're not helping," she says, voice roughened with arousal. When Marley's tongue laves over a particularly sensitive spot, Quinn shudders and tilts her head, giving Marley better access.

"Yes, I am." Marley reaches around; the zip of Quinn's dress is far easier to manage than her scarf, and she's quick to drag it down and slip Quinn out of the armholes, and her bra. "I'm helping me." Marley drags her teeth lightly over one nipple, savouring the taste of skin, and the effect she has on Quinn.

Quinn's fingers give a last, ineffectual tug on the knot. "Fuck the scarf," she says, "that's not coming off."

"Good," replies Marley. "You said you liked it on me, anyway."

The look Quinn shoots her is dark with arousal. There's a flash of a smirk, before one hand is on Marley's jaw, tilting her head to the side ever-so-slowly – Marley bites her lower lip in anticipation – and the other tugging the scarf away. Quinn's mouth latches on the patch of newly-exposed skin.

"Oh…"

She searches for something to hold on to. The half of Quinn's dress gets bunched up around her waist as Marley's hands cup Quinn's ass, pulling her forward.

"Is this okay?"

Quinn moans and nods furiously, Marley's neck quite forgotten. She presses her forehead into Marley's shoulder, hips rocking forward as Marley's fingers bury themselves in wet heat, thumb rubbing Quinn's clit. The angle of her hand isn't ideal, but the burn of her muscles is nothing compared to the heat of Quinn's skin.

It doesn't take too long; they're both incredibly worked up. Quinn cries out, and the movement of her hips gradually tapers off. Spent, she sags forward, Marley catching her.

Marley lies down. She surreptitiously wipes her hand on the side of her dress, and cups the back of Quinn's neck, rubbing it. "You're beautiful."

Quinn's eyes flutter open. "So are you," she says, hot breath tickling the fine hairs of Marley's neck.

Her fingers thread through sweat-dampened hair and start to massage Quinn's scalp. Quinn lets out a contented hum, and snuggles closer, settling comfortably on top of Marley. "You're making me fall asleep," she complains softly.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It is, when I haven't made you scream my name yet," Quinn tells her bluntly.

Her hand stills. "I – wow," says Marley. It's rare for Quinn to be this forward, and she becomes hyper-aware of the ache between her legs – and the dampness of her panties, when she shifts.

Marley's unease seems to have a profound effect on Quinn. Her eyes, normally hazel, go darker, more intense. She lurches forward, capturing Marley's mouth in a deep and filthy kiss that's mostly tongue, which is eagerly reciprocated.

She loves it when Quinn gets this way. She surrenders to Quinn, letting her take charge of her pleasure and her body. Marley whines, arching into Quinn's touch, eyes drooping shut.

"Can I…?"

Marley's eyes snap open. "Are you kidding me?"

" _Yes_ ," purrs Quinn. Marley's wet enough that Quinn's fingers glide up her leg, pushes aside her panties, and enters her in one fluid movement. All the air in her lungs empties in a gasp.

Quinn's fingers start thrusting. Marley's breathing becomes ragged, and she grabs onto Quinn's upper arms for leverage. She needs more; she's _so_ close.

"Please – !"

Marley opens her eyes just in time to see Quinn's perfect pink lips close around her left nipple, and suck. She moans Quinn's name, and comes hard.

It's the sound of Quinn's chuckle that grounds Marley again, and causes her to loosen the vice grip she has on Quinn. "Satisfied now?" asks Marley, interlocking her fingers behind Quinn's back, the pad of her right thumb idly tracing the healed scar there.

"Sleepy, actually."

Marley's mouth twists. "Honestly, me too." She presses a kiss to the only part of Quinn that's within easy reach – the crown of her head – and nuzzles it. "We should get under the covers."

Quinn huffs a laugh against Marley's collarbone. "How do you even have the energy to talk?"

"I'm not tipsy. You are." She presses her knee into Quinn's flank like she's a horse. Quinn grumbles but shifts, and in this way Marley gets her to shift enough so she can pull the corner of the comforter over their entwined bodies. "Okay. Now we can sleep."

But Quinn's already breathing softly into her shoulder.

* * *

She keeps a close eye on Quinn the entire way back to Lima; the last time they were there, things didn't exactly go smoothly for Quinn. Marley's grateful that they're not alone this time, but traveling with Rachel and Santana.

As expected, Quinn becomes more quiet and subdued when their plane lands. She does her best to hide the change in mood, and almost gets away with it. But Rachel – who can somehow be simultaneously self-absorbed and sensitive to the moods of people around her – homes in on Quinn like a heat-seeking missile, and clings to her.

Santana seems perfectly content to let her girlfriend hang off Quinn's arm, somehow, and Marley takes her cue from her.

Much to everyone's surprise, waiting outside the arrivals gate, with Rachel's dad and Marley's mom, is Puck.

Marley hangs back. It's disconcerting, the way that Rachel, Santana, and Quinn stare at him.

Then Rachel lets a huge smile overtake her features. "Noah!" she squeals. It breaks the spell; Santana smiles as well, though hers is more restrained. Quinn's expression remains wary.

After hugging her mom, Marley draws Quinn over to their little family circle, where Millie envelops Quinn in a huge hug that gets a genuine smile from Quinn. "I've missed you girls," exclaims Millie, gathering Marley back into the hug.

"What are you doing here, Noah?" they overhear Rachel asking. Marley notices Quinn's body stiffen into an attitude of listening; her hand slips into one of Quinn's and holds on.

"Heard my girls were coming back together for the holidays," he says. He still has an arm around Rachel's waist, which Santana is currently eyeing with distaste.

Millie glances at Quinn, then gives Marley a look. "Somethin' wrong?"

"I don't know," says Marley, her eyes on Quinn.

Her mom glances between them again, then over at Rachel's dad – who also seems just as discomfited. "I'll give you girls some privacy," she says, and walks over to him.

Quinn approaches Puck. "Why are you really here?" she asks, and her voice practically drips with hostility.

Puck releases Rachel to raise both hands in front of him. "Chill, Q," he says, "can't a guy come meet his high school exes?"

Rachel wavers between them. Santana is quick to come to her rescue, lacing her fingers with her girlfriend's. "Fuck you, Puckerman," Santana says; Marley sees Rachel shake her head in silent reproof, but that's all.

"Subtlety has never been your strong suit, Puck." Quinn's eyes narrow, and widen in sudden understanding. "... It's her, isn't it? She's here."

He says nothing, but it's clear that Quinn's right. Rachel exhales softly, Santana scowls, and Quinn's expression hardens. Marley's half a beat slower, but the significant glance Rachel and Quinn exchange puts the pieces together.

"Shelby's here for me, okay? You know she lives in New York now, and I don't get to see _her_ much."

At this, Rachel worries her lower lip between her teeth.

"Shelby's invited me to Christmas dinner, and she'd really love it if you both could come," finishes Puck. "Just the five of us. It'll be like the last time, on Beth's birthday."

Rachel bristles, as something flickers in Quinn's eyes at the mention of the name. "Shelby could have asked us herself instead of sending you as her messenger boy." She sends him a sharp glance after, which Puck avoids. "She knows how to contact me or Quinn."

"Don't blame Shelby for this; she thinks you all hate her. I was the one who talked her into this."

"Stay out of it, Puck," Quinn snaps. "You can go – play happy families with them again for all I care. Just don't assume what we want."

He clenches his jaw. "I thought we were fine. We had a birthday party for her, and it was good."

"Quinn's right, Noah," interrupts Rachel gently. "You should have asked first, rather than assumed."

"Fine. Forget I asked, then," he snaps, and rounds on Quinn. "I'm sorry I tried to make sure we're part of our daughter's life."

"You – "

Marley moves before she's aware of what she's doing. She catches Quinn's elbow, angling their bodies so Quinn's pulled into Marley. "I'm sorry, Puck, but I think you should go."

He storms off. She barely notices Rachel going after him, before Quinn violently wrenches away from her. Marley gasps in pain.

" _Don't_ – " starts Quinn, wild-eyed, then stops. "I… did I hurt you?"

Marley shakes her head. But Quinn seems to deflate before her eyes, all the anger draining from her in an instant. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, "I should…" And without completing her sentence, she flees.

"Quinn!"

She follows Quinn to the bathroom, catching up with her just as she makes it inside. "Quinn, come here," says Marley. She doesn't touch her, but she stands between Quinn and the exit.

Quinn leans over the sinks, head down, knuckles white as she grips the counter. She doesn't respond.

Marley closes the distance between them slowly, like she's approaching a wounded wild animal. When she gets within arm's length, she rests an open palm on the small of Quinn's back; an open gesture that Quinn is free to reject or accept. "Quinn, sweetheart."

Eventually, she comes, willingly. Marley's hands cradle the back of Quinn's head; Quinn tucks her face into Marley's neck, which melts Marley's heart. Quinn's shoulders start shaking, and Marley holds her as she cries.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Say You Will_ by Fleetwood Mac. The song that Marley 'writes' is actually _Great Unknown_ by William Ryan Key.


	12. Part Eleven

**Part Eleven:** _I don't shine like the others do/I'm so close, and so far_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The Americanization of the fic, from this chapter onwards, was done by **Mike** **Ownby** _,_ who generously volunteered his services. He was also kind enough to point out random grammar and spelling mistakes, and plain logic fail, as I rushed through the chapter. These ranged from the simple typos to true 'D'oh!' moments. Any more of these which still exist are my own.

Mike also made the manip that I'm using as this story's cover image, with his kind permission. This fandom is blessed with Photoshop wizards.

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it…?"

"Not really." Quinn swipes harshly at her eyes, until Marley gently grasps her wrist and starts rubbing the inside with her thumb. Quinn lets her.

"But…"

"No," repeats Quinn, a little more firmly. Marley falls silent. "I – I'm sorry."

"Then do you…" Marley clears her throat, still in disbelief that she's even suggesting this, "do you want to be alone?"

Quinn's eyes dart to her immediately; Marley flushes, but doesn't look away. For a moment, she thinks she sees guilt in Quinn's eyes, and she rushes into saying: "I can be outside, if you don't want me here right now – or we could go somewhere less claustrophobic…"

"I'm okay," says Quinn quietly. "I just need some time to clear my head." She eases her hand out of Marley's grip, and smooths down her clothing.

"Okay." Marley stands helplessly by. "I, um, I'm going to find my mom."

"Okay." Quinn doesn't look at her as Marley exits.

Outside, Rachel practically pounces on her. "How is she?"

"Not good." Marley tries not to sound as dejected as she feels.

"You're not inside with her…?"

"I don't think – " She swallows the large lump that's formed, and tries again: "I don't think she wants me there right now."

Santana makes an angry noise; Rachel tuts. "Don't be ridiculous; of course she wants you there," says Rachel, "she's just bad at expressing her emotions."

"True, that. I could make you a long list of the fucked-up shit Tubbers did just because she couldn't man up and be honest about her feelings," says Santana.

Marley smiles weakly. Although Quinn's rejection hurts, it helps that their friends are doing their best to reassure her. "It's okay," she says, shaking her head, "I think it's you guys she needs right now, not me."

"Don't be stupid!" Santana growls. "We're not actually dating her; _you_ are. The rest of us are better at picking girls to be gay for," she adds. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Oh my God, Santana."

Rachel glares at her girlfriend, who shrugs. After a while, Marley realizes that the glare is now directed at _her_. "But… Santana's right," says Rachel. Marley quails. "After everything that's happened, do you _honestly_ believe that Quinn doesn't want you around _now_ , of all times?" she demands.

Put as bluntly as that, her fears sound ridiculous. Marley blushes in embarrassment, and averts her eyes. "No. But she does need space."

Rachel throws up her hands in obvious frustration. "She doesn't need space away from _you_." Muttering darkly under her breath in what sounds like Yiddish, Rachel pushes open the door. She reaches back to grab Marley and shove her in. Theoretically, she shouldn't have been able to accomplish that, but Marley had been caught off-guard, and went easily.

Quinn looks up from the running tap, hands paused in the sink. Her face is damp – from water, from tears, it's impossible to tell – and her red-rimmed gaze locks with Marley's. There's a wealth of emotion in those hazel eyes, and Marley hates that the most prominent of them all is guilt. She places a hand on the counter to steady herself.

"I'm so sorry, Marley," says Quinn. She takes a step forward. Marley moves just before Quinn's hand can cover hers. It hurts more than she thought it would.

"We should go," says Marley. "I know you're supposed to stay with me, but if that makes you uncomfortable, I'll take you elsewhere. Rachel's, or Santana's house." She turns her back.

"Wait, please."

This time…

… she does.

Quinn's fingers brush the inside of her arm, and linger. Marley closes her eyes. The tentative way Quinn's behaving wracks Marley with guilt for how she acted, and is acting now.

"I'm sorry," croaks Quinn, and it breaks her heart.

She turns around to grasp Quinn's hand more firmly in hers, lacing their fingers together. "It's okay, Quinn."

"I'm still… I really messed up."

"I get it, but… Quinn, I want to be here for you. I want you to let me in. I don't know how else to convince you that I'm not going anywhere." Her voice goes higher, her words start spilling out. Marley's eyes blur with tears. "You freaking out like that was terrifying."

"You don't need to. You don't owe me anything. I was scared – I let everything get the better of me." She lets Quinn cup her face in both hands, and kiss away the tears that have started to fall. "I know that's not an excuse. I'm so sorry. Marley, I love you."

She has always been the first to give way, but –

Slowly, ever so slowly, Marley eases herself away from Quinn. The distraught expression she sees on Quinn's face breaks Marley's heart all over again. "We can't keep doing this," she says, softly. "I'm not breaking up with you, but this – " she gestures between them, "– this thing we do, with you lashing out at me when I'm trying to help? It hurts."

She looks so lost that it physically hurts Marley. "I'm trying."

"I know you are. So am I." Now she feels like a terrible person. "... I know the distance is a big reason for this."

"You can't help that," responds Quinn automatically.

"I know. But it's not helping our relationship at all. That's why we have to work so hard just to keep us at a status quo." Marley strokes Quinn's cheek. "It's exhausting. Don't try and tell me otherwise."

Quinn sighs, the sound thin and ragged. "I… I'm not ready to talk about this now. Any of this."

"Okay." Marley draws her hand back. "But we _will_ talk about it, right?" And she means Beth and Los Angeles and everything that falls in between, hoping that Quinn will understand.

"Yeah." Quinn's gaze lifts to hers, holds, and then falls away.

She takes Quinn's face in both hands, and kisses her forehead, hoping that it will take away some of the self-loathing and uncertainty she sees in her girlfriend's eyes – and the tiny smile Quinn gives her in return tells her that it does.

Just before they can leave, Quinn calls her name.

"Yes?"

"There's – something else I need to tell you," says Quinn woodenly, "something that you should know. It has to do with earlier."

"We don't have to do this now if you're not feeling up to it – " says Marley, and cuts herself off when Quinn shakes her head.

"Shelby and I had a… disagreement," says Quinn. "Beth's old enough to ask questions, so she knows she's adopted. They live in New York now, and Shelby called me." A muscle flexes in Quinn's jaw. "She told me that she doesn't want me in Beth's life until she's a bit older because it'll be too difficult for Beth."

"... When was this?"

"July."

"You didn't say anything," says Marley dumbly. "I thought… something as important as this, you would've told me." She runs her hand through her hair. "No wonder you were so upset when Puck talked about being a part of her life. He doesn't know, does he?"

"That's the thing," says Quinn bitterly. "Shelby's always had a soft spot for him. It's okay for _him_ to be in Beth's life because he's her daddy and she needs a father figure, but she already has a mommy." She takes a deep, steadying breath; Marley can see her hand tremble. "So, no. Puck doesn't know, because Shelby's rules don't apply to him."

"But why would she invite you to Christmas dinner? That was what Puck said, right?"

Quinn throws up her hands. "I don't know what new game she's playing. This _is_ the same woman who came back into Rachel's life, told her she didn't want a teenage daughter, got her little spy Jesse St James to pretend to be her boyfriend to distract her so we'd lose to her show choir, _and_ then _adopted_ my baby."

Marley swallows her immediate opinion on Shelby Corcoran in favor of the bigger and more important question. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier, Quinn?"

"You were busy with Trent, and your album." Quinn rubs the bridge of her nose. "You were writing songs about _us_ , Marley, and I couldn't – everything else felt so unimportant when I was on the phone with you. Every moment I could steal with you was precious, and I didn't want to taint it with my problems. You sounded so _happy_ , and listening to you talk made _me_ happy."

"Still. You could've told me." Her mouth sets into a thin line.

"And what would you have done?"

Marley starts. "I… I would have been there for you," she says, even as she knows it's a lame answer. Quinn's right; she would have listened, and been sympathetic, but ultimately there was nothing she could do. "Just because we live in different cities doesn't mean I can't care."

"You would have worried, and I didn't want my problems distracting you," says Quinn. The words are gentle and without reprimand, but Marley flinches anyway. "I – I know it sounds really stupid now, but – I wasn't thinking."

"That's not stupid. I get where you're coming from, but part of being in a relationship is being there for each other." She feels like her hands are tied. Sure, she's still upset that Quinn would keep such an important thing from her, or worse; feel that there were things she couldn't share because she didn't want Marley to worry, but – this is _Quinn_ , and she isn't exactly the most forthcoming person on the planet. The problem is, Marley isn't sure she wouldn't have done the same thing if she was in Quinn's shoes.

Quinn seems to read her hesitation. "This is such a fucked up situation, isn't it?" she says, with a bitter laugh.

Marley lifts her hands in a hopeless gesture. "I wish it wasn't," she tells Quinn, and drops her hands to her sides.

"Believe me, I know." They lapse into silence; Quinn staring down at the tiles, Marley at the wall on the far end.

She feels drained. It's been building for a while now, but all of this has exhausted her more than she ever thought possible. Marley shakes her head, as though it would clear her mind. She extends a hand to Quinn. "Let's go home," she says simply.

* * *

She knows Quinn needs time and space. That's how she works. But for the first time, Marley thinks that she needs that too, that she's not quite ready to be the one patiently waiting with open arms.

"I'll be on the porch," says Marley. She leaves Quinn's bags in the guest room. "My mom'll be in the kitchen – as usual."

A ghost of a smile flickers across Quinn's face. "As usual," she echoes.

Marley returns the smile and then heads downstairs. It's chilly, but she's missed winter weather. The cold air feels especially refreshing on her skin.

She doesn't know what to do. It feels terrible, because she hasn't felt this way since she was a teenager and she'd always thought that was how teenagers were supposed to be. Marley has always carried the quiet conviction that she could make any relationship work if she put her heart and soul into it, that understanding and hard work is all they need.

Their conversation from Quinn's last visit to Los Angeles comes to mind. She had asked Quinn to wait for her, but the events of the day have proved that it's not something easy for Quinn – though, not for lack of trying, but because of circumstances beyond their control. There's no way she can be the person Quinn needs and deserves if she's so far away.

Marley runs a hand through her hair. She wants this relationship to work, as does Quinn. But she doesn't want that if it kills either of them in the process.

When she gets up from the porch seat, the front door opens. Quinn comes out, shutting it quickly behind her. She has on a huge overcoat that makes her look like a little kid.

Marley laughs. "Where on earth did you get that from?"

"What are you talking about? This is _yours_. I found it in your closet," says Quinn. She turns around so Marley can see the faded embroidered patch on the back.

"Oh, _right_." She remembers now; her first winter in New York. The things she packed weren't enough, and she and Quinn had stumbled on it in a thrift store. Quinn had made fun of her at the time, but it was warm and cozy and that was all that mattered to Marley. "I asked Unique to ship it home. Mom must've washed it and put it in my closet." She smiles fondly. "Anyway… you have good timing. I was just about to come find you," says Marley. She sits back down, patting the seat beside her.

Quinn joins her. "I think we need to talk," she says, not looking at Marley.

"Yeah?" It comes out more of a question, because Quinn is acting oddly, and Marley has a bad feeling about this. Her girlfriend has on this weary, resigned expression that's completely at odds with how childish the coat makes her look.

"So. Do you want to say it, or should I?"

Marley frowns. "Say what? I don't understand."

"Then I'll say it." Her lip trembles. "I think this isn't working."

Hearing Quinn say the words is like a slap to the face. "... What?"

Quinn looks away. The muscles in her jaw tense. "It's not working," she repeats, "the distance is too much, and I'm so tired."

"That wasn't what I wanted to say."

"But you were thinking it, right?"

"No, of course not." Marley shakes her head. "Quinn…"

"I don't want to hurt you, but I end up doing it anyway." Pain flashes through her eyes. "In more ways than one."

"Stop that." She grabs onto Quinn's fingers, giving them a sharp shake. "If this is about earlier… I don't want to hear it. You were caught off-guard; we all were. You can't keep punishing yourself for your mistakes, Quinn."

Quinn closes her eyes. It occurs to Marley, then, that Quinn has spent her life hearing the word 'but', and being asked to leave. Of not being good enough.

"Quinn, you're not doing either of us a favor by pushing me away." She leans back in the wooden seat. "I don't blame you, though. I said some terrible things earlier, and I'm sorry."

"No, you said the right things," says Quinn flatly. "We can't keep doing this." Her eyes are glassy.

"No, I…" Marley exhales. "Quinn, I didn't mean us. I meant you not letting me in."

"And I told you, I'm trying."

"You don't know how much that means to me that you are." She glances down at their entwined fingers. "You apologized for not telling me about Shelby – and if I know you as well as I think I do, I know you must have debated with yourself about telling me. I was hurt, sure; but you explained your reasons, and I understand."

"You do?"

Marley nods. "I'm not angry with you. I _definitely_ don't want us to break up, especially not over something like this. And, Quinn…" She cradles Quinn's cheek, so she's looking into Quinn's eyes, "I want you to know that I love that you're talking to me, instead of running away or shutting down. It means everything." Her thumb brushes a tear that slides down Quinn's cheek.

Quinn's eyes flutter closed. She moves closer so she can rest her head on Marley's shoulder.

"... I need to tell you something, though."

"Oh?"

She smiles ruefully. "I had intended to wait until later, and under better circumstances, but… Puck kinda ruined everything."

"Puck's been ruining everything since sophomore year," says Quinn.

"I can't argue with that." Marley's thumb rubs gentle circles over the side of Quinn's hand. "I was thinking of moving back to New York. Hear me out," she adds quickly.

"... if this is because of what happened – "

"It isn't. Quinn, you know I wouldn't do anything like that on a whim."

Quinn clutches Marley's hand tightly. "You can't. You're living your dream, and I don't want you throwing it away."

"Living my dream feels like I'm empty inside daily. I'm sure dreams aren't supposed to feel like that."

"But, Atlantic Records."

Marley shakes her head. "There are other record companies. I don't even have to work for a record company, even. There are so many things I can do; it's a big city. I'm older and more experienced now."

"Precisely one year older."

"One year of working experience producing a whole album."

"I don't want you to regret anything," says Quinn in a tiny voice. "I don't think I could live with myself if you gave up your dream and ended up resenting me."

She lets go of Quinn's hand in favor of running her fingers through the hair on either side of Quinn's face, subtly directing Quinn to look at her. "Quinn," says Marley, "music has always been my dream. I'm not giving that up. But you… you're part of my dream now, too. It's as simple as that."

Tears well up in Quinn's eyes. "You can't say things like that, you idiot."

"And why not? I'm your dork, remember."

Quinn's smile slowly widens. "No. You're perfect."

"Then no talking about breaking up," orders Marley in mock-stern tones, angling Quinn's face closer to her own. Her thumbs massage Quinn's temples.

Quinn just shakes her head. "As long as you promise you'll give this _plenty_ of thought, and that you're doing whatever you decide to do for the right reasons. The right reasons being that your personal life has no major impact on it."

"Deal."

* * *

Even though Quinn's things are in the guest room, it's just for show. Quinn slips into Marley's room long after the house is silent and dark.

"I was just about to go over," says Marley from the dresser. She has her hair up in a loose bun.

"You can't always be the one going after me," replies Quinn, and Marley feels like she's not talking about the guest room. She just nods, however, and goes about getting ready for bed. "You can be honest with me," she says, back to Quinn as she adjusts the pillows, "it's because my bed's more comfortable, right?"

Quinn shakes her head. "No comment."

She holds up the blankets so Quinn can slip in, her other arm going around Quinn's waist; a habit she's adopted when they share a bed. It's warm and cozy, the rise and fall of Quinn's chest lulling her to sleep.

Eventually, Quinn breaks their comfortable silence: "Marley?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you said that it's something you're only thinking about, but… you aren't already making plans, are you?"

"No," she admits. She twirls a finger idly through the lock of hair tickling her cheek. "I wasn't even supposed to tell anyone yet."

"Good."

"Although the romantic in me would have to say that I would gladly give everything up for you, that's kinda impractical, and I don't think you'd appreciate that kind of grand romantic gesture. Like, even Rachel would have a coronary, maybe." Marley feels Quinn shift in her arms, making a harrumph of annoyance. "But you should know you're worth it. You are so very important to me, Quinn; even though I may say or do things that hurt you."

"You're such an idiot sometimes." Quinn's fingers find the crook of Marley's elbow. "You've never set out to hurt me, unlike most of the people in my life. It may sound ridiculous, but you're the person I trust most in the world."

"That's a little depressing."

She feels Quinn shrug. "I've hurt more than my fair share of people too."

"That's a little simplistic. You're more than that – some endless cycle of hurting and being hurt. You like cheesy pop songs. You like putting your iPod playlist on shuffle and hearing your favorite Motown song come on. You eat way less bacon, or any meat, than everyone thinks you do, because you actually listen to Rachel when she talks about vegetarianism. You… you double-majored in English and business at Yale because you really love reading, but wanted to back it up with a 'practical and prestigious' degree, and you're smart enough to see that through."

Quinn is silent for a long moment. "So… not just a pretty face?"

"Far from it." She presses her cheek into Quinn's hair. "Quinn, you're human, just like the rest of us. But you've accomplished so much, survived so much, it's hard to remember that sometimes. Even you forget that, and you beat yourself up when you make mistakes."

"I know."

"But I love you, and everything that makes you _you_ ," she whispers. "I want you to know that."

She feels Quinn bury her face in the front of her shirt, and say nothing. Marley understands the message, well aware that sometimes there are no words necessary.

* * *

Puck shows up on Marley's front lawn the next day.

Millie was about to chase him away, but she recognizes him from the airport, and knocks on Marley's door.

"Mmmph." Marley uncurls herself from around a still-sleeping Quinn, and goes to answer it. "Mom?" she yawns, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

"That young man from yesterday's on the front lawn."

"Huh?"

"My guess, he's lookin' for you girls." Millie offers her a sip of coffee, which Marley gladly accepts. "Should I chase him away?"

"What? No, it's okay, I'll go talk to him." She slips back inside, dresses quickly, and with a last quick glance at a sleeping Quinn, goes outside.

"Hi."

He has his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. It's impractical for this weather, but Marley gets the feelings he doesn't care. "Hey, Marley."

She has her arms folded across her chest. "I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here?"

"What do you think? I'm here to apologize to my baby mama."

"Don't call her that."

He raises both hands in a gesture of supplication. "Okay. Fine. I'm here to talk to Quinn. If she'll talk to me." Puck glances at her. "How is she?"

"Upset."

He winces. "Yeah, I kinda got that. Mad at me, too?"

Marley sighs. She was hoping they'd talk about what happened so she can at least give Puck some peace of mind, but they'd had more important things that needed to be said first. "You surprised us all, and those were… sore topics, to say the least. Even I could see that."

"I know. I'm known for my biceps and abs and not much else." Puck smirks a little, then it falters when he notices she isn't smiling. "... Fuck. That wasn't the right thing to say, was it?"

"Not really."

Puck scratches his jaw. "You're good for her."

"... What is it with you guys and unsubtle changes of topics?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"Finn said the exact same thing, in the exact same way," says Marley.

He chuckles. "No shit. The dude's my best friend; figures we'd have rubbed off on each other. But we mean it, you know. Not just the whole spank bank – okay, that was another bad thing," he amends hastily once he catches the look on Marley's face. "Look. I'm glad she has you around, you're way better at being there than I ever was. But I didn't come here to say that, I came here to talk to Q. Will you help me ask Quinn if she'll talk to me? Before I jam my foot in my mouth again?"

"You can ask me yourself," says Quinn. They both jump.

"Quinn?"

She doesn't look at Marley. "What are you doing here, Puck? Haven't you done enough?"

He shuffles, kicking at snow. "Quinn, I'm just here to apologize. You have every right to be mad at me, because I was out of line yesterday."

"Should I…?" Marley starts to retreat, but stops in her tracks with a look from Quinn. Her gaze travels back to Puck.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Quinn sighs. "I'm sorry, too. You didn't deserve any of the things I said to you."

Puck looks surprised, but it's quickly replaced by excitement. "Nah. I shouldn't have forced it. S'cool." He extends one arm in her direction, a smirk on his face. Quinn narrows her eyes at him; he sighs, shoving his hand back into his pocket. "We good?"

"Until the next time you screw up," she says lightly. "You know what Shelby did to the both of us, Puck. You know how hard it is for me to even talk about this."

"Got that," says Puck. "Fair enough."

"About Christmas…"

"We don't have to," he says quickly. "I shoulda listened the first ten times Shelby said no."

"No." Quinn looks up at him. "I'm tired of running from all this. I think… I'm ready to stop running." She smiles faintly. "You're right. We're not her parents, but we can at least be part of her life."

Marley smiles at them – then her eyes widen when Quinn beckons to her. "Besides… I want Beth to meet Marley."

"... What."

Puck starts laughing. "Hey, welcome to the family!"

She doesn't even register that he's talking. "Quinn, are you sure?" asks Marley. They haven't discussed Beth since yesterday, and it's not like Quinn to decide something this momentous out of the blue.

"I'm sure." She looks into Marley's eyes, smile gentle. Puck, of course, ruins the moment by hooting and asking them to kiss.

"Puck, go away."

He pauses, then nods, clearly unwilling to test the limits of Quinn's patience. "Fine. One kiss for the road, then?"

She shoots him a glare colder than the winter, and he finally backs off. When his truck's disappeared down the road, Marley turns to Quinn, wide-eyed. "What just happened?"

"Hear me out?" Quinn puts her hands into her pockets. "I do want to be part of her life. I wasn't happy when Shelby asked me to stay away, but I agreed because of Beth. I don't know what Puck told her, but if it means getting to see her, I'll take that opportunity. But… I can't do this alone." She turns pleading eyes on Marley.

"Quinn, of course. I'll be there if you need me to."

Quinn smiles, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "You're not mad at me again, are you? I know that was a pretty big thing to spring on you like that."

"Not mad, no," says Marley. "Just surprised. We barely talked about Beth and Shelby and then now… I would've appreciate a little heads up, is all." She shakes her head, smiling. "But the good surprised. I'm glad you're not letting Shelby stop you from knowing Beth."

"I'm glad, too."

"Hey, hey. No more tears, okay? You've cried enough in the past few days." Marley pulls her in for a hug.

"Happy tears this time." Quinn clings to her. "I'm glad you'll be there. There's no one else I trust to stop me from strangling Shelby," she jokes.

Marley laughs. "I'm pretty good at being your keeper," she says, kissing Quinn's nose.

* * *

Luckily, Rachel has similar opinions concerning Shelby, and Santana thus invites herself along. There are tense negotiations in which Puck shuffles back and forth as messenger boy to find a time which suits all of their schedules.

In the end, they settle on a casual dinner a few days before Christmas to avoid the peak season, and Breadsticks as neutral territory. Santana offers to drive them all, and it's her way of showing solidarity.

Marley and Rachel take the backseat so Quinn can ride shotgun, and bicker with Santana. They've accepted it as their way of relieving stress, so Marley and Rachel aren't too bothered by the insults flying in both directions.

Marley's nervous. It's feels like meeting the parents, but way worse.

Rachel leans over. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"What if she hates me?"

"She's nine. I don't think she's capable of hating anyone. Maybe when she's a little older…?"

"I meant Shelby."

Rachel does the eyebrow thing she got from Quinn (after nearly a decade of friendship, they've all picked up each other's facial tics to varying degrees). "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about with Shelby. You're the only one without history with her."

"Yeah." She adjusts her printed scarf. Her nervous habit of fidgeting with her clothing hasn't extended to it, thankfully, because she has to consciously stop herself from ruining her precious scarf. "Any tips on what not to do?"

"Don't mention our familial connections, and you should be good," says Rachel lightly.

Marley snorts with laughter. "This is so messed up."

Rachel snorts as well. "You think? At least you only have Beth you need to win over. I'm not looking forward to having to explain to Shelby how I went from being engaged to Finn, to being in a long-term relationship with Santana Lopez, _plus_ having to win over my technical-sister, who is also my best friend's biological daughter."

"I'm not much better. I'd always seen myself as winning my prospective in-laws' approval. Now, I'm nervous because I want to win my girlfriend's daughter's approval." Marley grins. "But yours trumps mine, I guess."

Rachel laughs, patting her arm sympathetically.

Shelby is standing outside the restaurant, smiling widely. Puck's already there with his hands in his pockets, a little way off. It's abundantly clear that this is Rachel's mother; the resemblance is striking. It's hard to believe that she's capable of all the things Quinn's told Marley she's done.

Then the little girl hiding behind Shelby shows her face, and Marley is stunned to see a miniature Quinn peering at them all.

"Beth, say hello," scolds Shelby gently.

"Hi," she whispers, and goes back to hiding behind her mother. It's adorable.

"Hello, Beth," Rachel immediately says, bending down to look at her. Marley, however, only has eyes for Quinn, who is gazing at Beth with the most wistful expression she has ever seen her wear.

"I'm so glad all of you could make it," Shelby says. Her eyes linger on Rachel, then Puck, before she smiles at everyone. It's subtle, but since Marley was looking for it, she notices that Shelby doesn't make eye contact with Quinn.

"Thank you for inviting us," replies Quinn, manners impeccable as always. Behind Quinn's back, Santana makes a face.

"Hello. I don't think we've met," says Shelby, looking at Marley.

"Marley Rose," she introduces herself, shaking Shelby's hand, "I was a freshman at McKinley in their senior year." She glances at Quinn, fleeting, suddenly shy about introducing herself as Quinn's girlfriend.

Quinn steps up. "We're together," she says, and slips her hand into Marley's. Her chin tips up in this tiny gesture of defiance, one that Marley has learned to recognize as bravado.

Shelby's smile doesn't falter – and the resemblance to Rachel has never been so strong. "It's very nice to meet you, Marley," she says, and turns to Santana, "and it's good to see you again, Santana, in… very different circumstances, I should say."

"Finn Hudson and I swapped partners and decided we liked it better this way. Never looked back since," she says cheerfully. Rachel splutters; Quinn hisses, "Would it kill you to act like a normal human being for _once_ in your _life_ , Lopez?"

Marley, however, recognizes the power move for what it was; it takes away focus from the tension between Quinn and Shelby, and distracts Shelby from any further questions that might lead to unpleasant outcomes. She catches Puck winking at her, and she finds that's she's not the only one.

Beth tugs on her mom's dress and announces, "I'm hungry." The adults take that as their cue to head into Breadsticks.

It's disconcerting to watch Beth. She has Quinn's features, and Puck's eyes, but there's a lot of Shelby in her mannerisms – which Rachel also shares, to a lesser degree. Marley has to hide her laughter in her hand when Beth levels a Quinn-glare at her mom for not letting her order dessert until she's done eating her main course.

Quinn looks similarly entranced. Marley rests her hand on Quinn's knee under the table.

"Sorry Breadsticks isn't very fancy," says Shelby wryly, "but Beth loves the pasta here, and the breadsticks. Of course. We always come here when visiting her grandma."

"I think the question is, how could she not? That kid is full of awesomeness already." Santana reaches across the table to hold her hand out; after a moment's hesitation, Beth gives her a high-five.

Santana grins. "What's your favorite pasta sauce?"

Beth looks thoughtful, seemingly considering her answer carefully. "Tomato and meatballs," she answers, "but only with the big meatballs."

"Nice. You're pretty cool. For a kid."

"My favorite place at home is called Antonio's, and Mommy lets me order a basket of garlic bread all for me."

She sees Quinn wince a little when Beth calls Shelby Mommy. Marley's thumb starts rubbing circles onto Quinn's kneecap.

"I like garlic bread, too."

"No, you like torturing me with your garlic breath," says Rachel dryly.

"That's a perk."

"What's a perk?" Beth asks. She looks more interested in these adults now.

"It's an unexpected good thing that comes with doing something. Like when you live in New York, you get to see lots of Broadway shows," Rachel explains.

Beth nods. "Mommy's friends are all in shows. They get to wear all these shiny costumes and sing songs onstage." She smiles. "I remember we went to your show," she adds, looking at Rachel. "You were Princess Jasmine."

Rachel beams. "Thank you, sweetie. Did you enjoy it?"

"I guess." But then Beth adds, "It was a little boring," and Marley wants to laugh because she can see something in Rachel die a little bit.

"Oh," says Rachel in a strangled tone, "well." Santana tries not to laugh – surprisingly tactful for her – and rubs the inside of her arm.

"Bethy!" reproaches Shelby. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say. Rachel put a lot of hard work into her show. How do you think you would feel if I told you I thought your spelling bees are boring?"

Beth pouts. "Sorry."

"Not to me, honey. Apologize to Rachel."

"That isn't necessary – " says Rachel. But the little girl turns to her with a determined expression and says, "I'm sorry I said your show was boring."

Marley is utterly charmed – as are most of the other adults at the table, probably. Enough that the non-apology's going unchallenged.

"Oh heck," mutters Santana under her breath, "she looks exactly like Tubbers did. Cuter, though."

She does; that's probably why she's such a sucker for the girl now, Marley supposes.

Quinn clears her throat. "If you don't like going to shows – " Rachel pouts at her " – what do you like to do instead?" Quinn asks.

Beth brightens. "I love reading! Mommy used to read to me but I can do it all by myself now. My favorite books are _The Graveyard Book_ and _Matilda_ and _Alice in Wonderland_."

Quinn smiles at her. "I love _Alice_ too."

"I know. You gave me the book."

She blinks, then relaxes. "I did. For your birthday, a couple of years ago. Your mommy said you were a little too young for it at the time, and you'd grow into it." Much to Quinn's credit, there's no bitterness in her words, and Shelby looks grateful for it. However, Quinn doesn't look at Shelby the entire time.

Beth nods. "Mommy helps when I don't know some of the long words."

"I was about your age when I started reading _Alice_ too." Here Quinn looks wistful, but happy. "I'm really glad you're enjoying it as much as I did."

"Uh-huh! I asked Santa for _Through the Looking-Glass_ for Christmas. I hope I get it; I've been _reeeally_ good all year."

Shelby chuckles. "I hope you do too, baby."

Beth wiggles happily in her seat when the waiter places a plate of pasta in front of her. Spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread, and more breadsticks.

"Wow, babe, you really gonna eat all that?" The plate of pasta in front of Puck is twice the size of Beth's, but his eyes go wide and he gestures at her plate.

"Yup," she says, laughing.

"You're kidding me. Where does it all go?" He pretends to peer under the tablecloth and around Beth's body, tickling her until she squeals in helpless laughter. Shelby looks on, laughing herself.

Unlike Quinn and Beth, the resemblance between Rachel and Shelby is merely physical. There's an exhaustion that Shelby wears, that Marley only sees in Rachel when she's talking about failing auditions.

But now, everyone wears the same fond expression as they watch Puck clown around with Beth. Marley thinks Beth is an extremely lucky girl, to have this many people in her life who'll always care about her.

"So, what do you do, Marley?" asks Shelby politely.

"I'm a junior producer with Atlantic Records," she answers. "I started with them right after graduation."

"You must be very talented. That's a very prestigious company to be working for as a fresh graduate."

"She is," says Quinn. Marley glances sideways at her. "She was headhunted for the position."

Quinn glances over at Santana, and then suddenly Santana is nodding. "I put out an album some time back. Rachel helped with the writing and vocals and shit, but Marley produced it for me. She really helped put the whole thing together."

Shelby nods. "That's very impressive. I think I wouldn't mind buying a copy, if you still have some in stock."

"I'll mail you one," says Rachel. Her eyes keep darting between Shelby, Quinn, and Santana, as though she's caught on to whatever game's being played between all three, and she's still deciding which side she wants to be on. "You're still living in New York, aren't you?"

Shelby nods. She seems unperturbed by the tension, though it may be because Marley doesn't know her well enough to tell. "I'd appreciate it. I'm glad to see you all doing so well after high school."

"Despite the circumstances," says Quinn smoothly.

Shelby doesn't respond. She refocuses her attention on Beth, reminding her to chew with her mouth closed.

Marley notices Puck listening in. Which is timely, because Shelby is now saying to Rachel: "I seem to recall you being rather fixated on Finn, to the point of getting engaged to him," to Rachel.

"Things change. People change," replies Rachel stiffly. "We were all teenagers, and honestly too young for decisions like that."

"You don't have to explain anything; I get it. I was a teenager once, too," backtracks Shelby. "I just wanted to say… I'm glad you're all happy. It's certainly not what I was expecting, but I'm happy for you all, nonetheless."

Rachel takes Santana's hand. "I am very happy, thank you," she says.

And then Puck changes the conversation in typical Puck style – with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. "Speaking of happiness; how about you, Shelby? Any special guy in your life lately?" he asks with a grin. As he and Shelby chat, Marley notices the tension slowly bleed out of Quinn's shoulders.

"Are you alright?"

Quinn exhales. "Yeah. I am now." She smiles at Marley. "Thanks for asking."

The rest of the meal progresses without further incident until Marley notices Beth staring at her milkshake. "Beth?"

"Yeah?"

Marley smiles at her, and then indicates the milkshake. "Would you like to try it?"

"Mommy says I'm not allowed to have dessert until I'm done with my food," replies Beth glumly. She pokes at the noodles still on her plate. "I don't want these. They're all cold and icky."

Marley shrugs. "And she's right."

Beth deflates. "Don't grown-ups get to eat dessert whenever they want?"

"Nope. My mommy would be mad at me if I didn't finish my food before getting dessert, too." She nods at her own plate, with two slices of garlic bread there; she'd been saving the best for last, but that hardly matters now. "You know, I really love spaghetti."

Beth stares down at her spaghetti, frowning in contemplation. "Really really?"

"Yup, really."

"I know!" She leans forward to whisper conspiratorially. "I'll eat your garlic bread and you'll eat my spaghetti. Then we can both get dessert."

Marley tries not to laugh. "That sounds like a great idea."

"What's your name?"

"Marley."

"Pinkie promise, Marley," orders Beth. She holds up a hand, pinkie extended. Marley links their pinkies together, nodding solemnly as Beth gives their joined pinkies a firm shake. "No backsies," says Beth, shoving her plate away and reaching for Marley's.

"No backsies." Marley sprinkles Parmesan cheese on her newly-acquired spaghetti, smiling indulgently as Beth wolfs down the garlic bread and presents her clean plate to Shelby. She gets the feeling they were watched for the duration of the transaction but no one seems to care either way.

Then a menu prods into her hand. "I wanna lava chocolate cake," says Beth. "What do you want?"

"That sounds lovely, I think I'll have that too. My mom made that before."

Beth's eyes go wide. "Mommy! Marley's mom makes lava chocolate cake at home! Can we?"

"We'll see," says Shelby with an indulgent smile.

"Pinkie promise!"

"Pinkie promises don't work with mommies, sweetheart." But she flags down a waiter and puts in an order for _three_ chocolate lava cakes. "If we're considering making these at home, I'll have to see what they're all about," she says to a delighted Beth, "unless you wanna share yours with me?"

"No!" Beth yells. "Get your own, mommy!"

Marley's laughing along with everyone else when she feels lips on her cheek, and a voice in her ear ask: "Are you sharing?"

"Say please."

Quinn laughs. "Please."

"Quinn, get your own," says Beth loudly. "You ate all your spaghetti so you can order dessert too."

Quinn blinks in surprise as everyone bursts into a fresh gale of laughter.

* * *

Santana drops them home in record time. Rachel's giving her an earful for how she conducted herself through dinner, and it's reached that point where it's foreplay for them. Marley can't get out of the car fast enough.

They haven't been standing in the snow long when Quinn takes her hand. "Walk with me?" she asks. "It's a nice night."

Marley smiles and nods. "Sure." She puts her house keys back into her pocket. "Lead the way."

Lima is quiet for this time of night, and year. Marley adjusts her scarf around her neck as Quinn sets off down the sidewalk.

"You were relatively quiet tonight," says Quinn. She bumps Marley's shoulder with her own gently.

"Nothing much for me to say. They're your friends, your – Beth." She clears her throat. "And Shelby was… after hearing about the things she did, and tonight… it's safe to say she isn't my favorite person."

"That makes the two of us," says Quinn wryly. She squeezes Marley's hand. "I have it on pretty good authority, though, that you might be mine."

"Might?"

"Okay, a high chance of being."

"Lucky me."

Quinn laughs, and bumps her head into Marley's shoulder affectionately.

"Are you okay? Tonight couldn't have been easy for you."

Quinn takes her time to consider her answer, and the crunching of their footsteps in snow fills the silence in between. "It wasn't," she admits eventually. "They're a family, Beth and Shelby; I've grown up enough to understand that now." She pauses under a streetlight. "The last time I saw her a couple of years ago, she was somewhat of her own person. But the older she gets, she sounds like Puck and she…" Quinn doesn't complete the sentence.

"And she looks exactly like you," says Marley quietly. Quinn nods.

"I wasn't expecting that. I know that sounds ridiculous – she has half my genes – but she could have been Quinn Fabray as a child. The perfect kid my parents could show off to their friends like they never could with me when I was Lucy."

"There was nothing wrong with Lucy. I wish your parents could have understood that," says Marley. "She's someone who you used to be, but not who defines you now."

"Yeah." They start walking again. Marley's wearing her huge overcoat, and she tucks their joined hands into one of the pockets.

"Are you still mad at Puck?"

It happens that they walk under a shopfront as Marley asks the question, so she can see Quinn drop her gaze as she contemplates her answer. "No," says Quinn at last. "It's impossible for me to stay mad at him; he may be an idiot, but he has a big heart. I'm glad I went tonight." A smile spreads over her face. "I'm glad you came along."

"I was really nervous about meeting Beth," confesses Marley.

"Really? Why?" One of Quinn's eyebrows goes all the way up.

"She's your biological daughter. You and Puck adore her, and so does Rachel. I was afraid she'd hate me, and…" Marley pauses to find the right words. "I didn't want her to hate me. She's important to you."

Quinn shakes her head. "She's Shelby's daughter," says Quinn, with only a trace of bitterness. "It's a minor Christmas miracle that this dinner even happened, given with how we all acted years ago – how Shelby's still acting. I've made my peace with being Quinn and not Mommy to her. But…" She smiles warmly at Marley. "I appreciate you caring enough to want to make a good impression. It means a lot to me. Although… she _is_ only nine, and I don't think her opinion of someone is liable to be swayed by gifts."

"Is that a hint?"

"I didn't say you should buy her affection with gifts!" Quinn laughs. "I'm saying that… you're more than enough. Just you."

Marley tucks her hands into the crook of Quinn's elbow. "Can I buy _your_ affection with gifts?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'll give you a kiss."

Quinn's lips curve into a smile. "Sounds like a fair deal."

* * *

The deal that Quinn's made with her mother is that they spend Christmas Eve and the day itself together, but Quinn stays with Marley for the rest of their stay in Lima.

Quinn's been asked to dress up for their formal Christmas Eve dinner. This normally isn't a problem, but she hasn't spoken to her mother in a while, and so she's a little tense as she rummages through her suitcase.

Marley lounges on the bed, ostensibly reading a magazine but actually watching Quinn. "That looks nice."

Quinn grimaces. "You think?" She holds up the maroon dress to herself, studying her reflection in the mirror of Marley's closet. "I bought it especially for tonight's dinner with my mom."

"Don't you have plenty of dresses, though?"

"Not as much as I used to have," explains Quinn. "I left most of them back in Lima when I moved to New York. Besides, I only ever needed so many because my father didn't think women should wear pants."

"I see. You also look good like this, right now," says Marley in an attempt to change the subject from Russell Fabray.

Quinn glances down at herself, then back at Marley. "I'm in my underwear," she says, sounding like she's torn between amusement and exasperation.

"What's your point?"

"Oh my god. Don't be such a boy, Marl." She flings one of her shirts at her laughing girlfriend, smirking as it catches her in the face. "If you're not gonna help, at the very least you could refrain from making comments like that."

"Okay, okay!" Marley laughs, putting her hands up in case Quinn decides to launch more clothing at her. "I'll help. What do you need? Moral support? Actual physical support?"

"Tell me if it's too much. As for physical support… I have a bra for that," says Quinn.

Marley giggles. "I see my terrible sense of humour is contagious."

"Don't flatter yourself." She frowns, then removes another dress, this time in navy blue, from her suitcase. "Which looks better?"

Marley sits up, crossing her legs Indian-style. She props her elbow up on one knee, perching her chin on the palm of her hand. "The navy," she answers at length. "It goes with your hair."

Quinn contemplates both dresses, then nods. "Navy it is." She unzips the back and climbs into it. "Zip me up?"

Marley slides off the bed. She can't resist trailing her fingers up Quinn's bare arms, enjoying the shudder it elicits. Smirking, Marley pulls the zipper up, and leaves a kiss on the back of Quinn's neck.

"Don't start something you can't finish," murmurs Quinn, voice suddenly husky.

"I'm not as evil and twisted as you think I am." Another kiss, and she's gone, retreating to the bed to admire Quinn, who examines the dress from every angle in the mirror before pronouncing herself satisfied. She puts on matching shoes before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Marley shifts so she can continue staring at Quinn.

"I kinda wish I didn't have to go," says Quinn, from inside.

Marley sighs. Before she can say anything, Quinn quickly adds: "I know I agreed to this. It's a bit hard to stick to the deal when – you know. I could be having a far more enjoyable Christmas holiday here." Her eyes fall to Marley's Yale crewneck and sweatpants combination. "With a better dress code."

"I don't think I have to remind you that I think it's a big deal that you're working on rebuilding your relationship with your mom," says Marley. "Besides, we get to have you for the rest of the week. I see a lot of dirty dishes in your future."

Quinn smiles. "Is that all I'm good for? Washing dishes?"

"Mmhmm." Marley is momentarily distracted, watching the sweep of the eyeliner as Quinn deftly draws one eye, then the other. "Maybe."

Quinn sweeps out of the bathroom and picks up something else from the nightstand. "Help me?"

"You're wearing _this_?" Marley easily does up the delicate silver clasp, unable to keep the goofy smile off her face.

"Silver goes with navy blue." She touches the silver book where it rests over her collarbone, and smiles at Marley. With Marley barefoot and Quinn in a modest pair of heels, they're about equal in height.

She stops herself before she can kiss Quinn (and ruin her immaculate makeup). "Do you want me to drive you there?" Marley asks.

The disappointment in Quinn's eyes vanishes, and she smirks. "Please. I was just wondering how I was going to ask you without sounding too needy." She pecks Marley on the lips as the other woman smiles goofily.

Marley snatches up a coat that's hanging over the back of her chair and they head downstairs.

"There you are," says Millie, "it's about time you got outta there and – Quinn, darlin', you are a _vision_." She beams, Marley quite forgotten.

"Thanks, Millie."

Marley kisses her mom's cheek, and ducks under her arm to grab her keys out of the bowl in the hallway. "I'll drop Quinn off and then be right back to help."

In the car, there's no music. There's her bag in the backseat that Marley sees when she turns her head to back out of the driveway. She's gotten a lot better at driving now that she drives every day in LA. She'll miss the sound of Quinn's voice, even if it's just for a couple of days. "Is it just you and your mom?" asks Marley, breaking the silence.

"No," says Quinn. "Frannie and her husband are staying a couple of days. I think they're bringing their baby."

"You're an aunt?"

"Yeah. I didn't even know she was pregnant, until Mom told me. Apparently they've been trying for a while." Light from the streetlamp outside floods in, casting Quinn's face in profile.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I know it must be hard for you, with Beth, and then now your sister…" She trails off. "I also know you don't want to talk about it, but… yeah. I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to be alone in this."

Quinn doesn't say anything until they pull up outside the Fabray house. When Marley turns to her expectantly, Quinn leans over the gear console and pulls Marley in by the neck of her shirt to kiss her. She kisses back out of habit, but it's not too long before Quinn's putting space between them. She whispers, "Thank you," in Marley's ear before leaning away, a wicked smirk on her ruby red lips.

Still dazed, Marley watches as Quinn fetches her bag out of the backseat.

"Marley?"

"Yeah?"

"You have a little…" She gestures around her mouth, still smirking. Marley swipes at her own face; her fingers come away with lipstick smears.

In between giggles, Quinn calls, "Merry Christmas!" and turns to walk into her house.

* * *

She makes sure to clean off all lipstick marks before she enters her house; Marley doesn't think she can put up with her mom's teasing about mistletoe for the entire night.

Already, the smell of food wafts out when she opens the front door. "Is that you, baby?" yells Millie from the kitchen.

"Yep."

"Oh, good."

Marley washes her hands, digs in the drawer for her apron. "Reporting for duty, Chef."

"'bout time you came home, sweetie. I was worried you'd forgotten all about the Christmas cookies while canoodlin' with that girlfriend of yours."

"Mom!" She blushes. "How did you…?"

"Please, I was your age once. There were plenty of boys I stepped out with, and we'd go for long drives in their cars, if you catch my drift."

Marley groans theatrically. "No! I don't wanna know!"

Millie cackles. "Then take out the cookies, will you? They should be done about now…?"

On cue, the oven dings. She puts on her oven mitts and takes the trays out, setting them on racks to cool. Marley barely has time to catch her breath before she's put to work making pie filling.

As they work, Millie says: "It's been too long since it was just us Rose girls for Christmas. I've missed this." She adds a pinch of flour to the dough she's rolling out. "Maybe I should move out to Hollywood. Lima is an awfully long way from LA – and New York, for that matter."

"Oh, Mom." It seems as good a time as any to break the news. Marley pauses, takes a deep breath, and faces her. "Actually… there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

"About me being in Los Angeles. Mom, I was thinking of moving back to New York."

"But, didn't you move out there for your job?"

"Yeah, that's the thing. I don't like being out there on my own, far away from everyone. The job is great, but it doesn't seem worth it anymore."

Millie dusts off her hands, then comes over to turn off the stove. "Hey," protests Marley.

Her mom gives her a look. "That can keep." She instructs Marley to wash her hands and then they shuck off their aprons, leaving them in the kitchen. Millie settles onto the sofa with her daughter. "I didn't know you were so unhappy livin' out there on your own, Marl."

"I'm not, honestly." Her mouth goes sideways. "Mom… you'll probably say I'm being stupid, but… I just don't want to put my job first anymore."

"Have you talked about it with anyone else?"

"I mentioned it to Quinn, but…" She fidgets with her hands. "She's not too happy. About the whole moving back thing, that is."

"As I expected." Millie rubs Marley's hand. "Sweetie, you moved out there 'cause they were offerin' you your dream job. I'm in no place to judge, but if you're gonna move back to New York for a girl…"

"It's not like that – though it sounds like it is," says Marley. "Things have changed. I've been doing a lot more things, and I feel that what I'm doing now isn't everything I want to be doing in my life. I want to try other things. I've started writing songs again. There are plenty of opportunities in New York – just not guaranteed jobs that pay well."

Millie ponders for a long moment. "So Quinn's got no part in this decision?"

Marley hesitates. "She does. I know it sounds bad, but… she's been such a major part of my life over the past few years."

"Hey, it's not my place as your mom to just sit around and _judge_ you. I'm here to love you unconditionally, and support you in whatever you wanna do, okay? The time for educatin' is long past." She pats Marley's cheek. "'Sides, you've always been my good girl. I think the last time I ever had to tan your hide was when you wanted to play grown-ups and ruined my good suit with lipstick."

Marley chuckles.

"There's nothin' wrong with doin' things for love, anyway," continues the older woman. "Crazy, stupid, whatever they say. But _I_ say; if you're gonna do something crazy, ain't no better reason than love."

"... You're not mad?"

Millie gapes at her. "Marley, why would I be mad?"

"You worked so hard to save up enough so I could go to college, and you talked so much about me being a college graduate and working in Los Angeles. If I moved back, I could easily end up jobless and starving."

"I care about you. You're worth a lot more than the college degree, sweetheart. An' the Marley Rose I raised is far too ambitious an' talented to be jobless for long in a big city always lookin' for talent. I know you'll find somethin'." A smirk curves her lips. "As for starvin', you'll have that lovely girlfriend of yours lookin' out for you, won't you? She's certainly ambitious an' talented enough to keep you around."

"Alright!" Marley says, laughing. "Alright, I get your point. I just – I haven't decided on anything yet, but I'm… I'm glad you're okay with whatever I choose."

"As long as you think it out, honey. I trust your decision-making skills, not your impulsivity. There was this time when you were eleven and you decided clothes weren't important or necessary…"

Marley blushes. "Oh my God, Mom, stop that! Some stories are cute and whatever, but others should never ever be mentioned again!"

"That's the other job of a mother; keepin' you honest," replies Millie sweetly. She kisses Marley on the cheek and hoists herself up. "And now, that food ain't gonna cook itself."

"I thought not," says Marley with a deep theatrical sigh (she's picked up a few things from Rachel, directly and indirectly through Quinn).

* * *

Marley gets her mom a _sous vide_ cookbook, a stack of sturdy plastic bags, and a book of coupons for cooking lessons that she made herself. Millie takes instant joking offence, and demands an _Iron Chef_ -style showdown to determine who's the better chef, with their leftovers from Christmas dinner.

Millie wins only because she monopolized the oven to make muffins with their leftover cranberry sauce, and Marley couldn't resist taking one while it was still hot.

Her mom's always been really good at cooking, but she's best at getting Marley to eat.

The prize for winning, apparently, is for Millie to use Marley's present (a hand-knitted wool throw blanket) while watching TV. Marley has to console herself with her other present – a sweater her mom knitted herself – for the time being. It's a lazy Boxing Day spent on the couch, with plenty of snacks and movies.

Halfway through the Christmas movie marathon, Marley's phone dings.

 _Hey_

 **hi! U tired of xmas yet? ;)**

 _Yes. This is exhausting I don't know why I put myself through this_

 **presents duh**

 _You sound smug. Good haul?_

Marley angles herself so she can snap a selfie of her new sweater (and a corner of her blanket), and sends it to Quinn.

 _Those look cozy! Did your mom make them?_

 **yes :)))**

 **spoilers bt u hav one too :))))))**

 **try to look srprised ok :))))**

 _I can't wait to see you_

 **Me too ive missed u sooo much**

 _Do you spike your eggnog? Mom does. But by this point she doesn't give a shit and drinks her wine in front of us lol. Frannie is bitter cos she can't have alcohol when she's breastfeeding_

 **Srry to hear tat u kno u can come bck home anytime**

 _How abt now?_

Marley sits up so suddenly that she almost tumbles off the couch. It startles Millie, who drops the cracker she's holding back into the bowl. "Goodness, child! What's the matter?"

"Be right back!" calls Marley over her shoulder as she heads for the front door. She finds Quinn on her porch, wrapped up in a large overcoat. "Quinn!"

"Surprise," she says – then grunts, as Marley lifts her up in an enthusiastic hug. "Whoa! Okay, you need to stop that, too full of Christmas food!"

Marley manages to swing her in a quarter circle before setting Quinn back on her feet. "I am so happy to see you," she says, kissing Quinn's forehead quickly. "Wait – how'd you get here? You didn't walk, did you?"

"Of course not. Robert – Frannie's husband – drove me." Quinn has this adorably pouty look on her face, and Marley doesn't understand why until she tugs Marley by the collar and kisses her soundly. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah. You?"

Quinn makes a face. "It was… alright, honestly. Things went a lot better than I'd expected; babies are an excellent topic of conversation when you're avoiding other things."

"Marley Rose!" yells Millie from inside. "It's cold outside! If that's Quinn, you best be invitin' her in! Where are your manners, young lady?"

"We have popcorn, and Mom made these amazing cranberry muffins," says Marley, taking Quinn's hand and twining their fingers together. "Also, presents."

"That sounds great."

* * *

She could get used to this. She's snug in bed, Quinn a warm and soft weight curled up into her side, the both of them quietly drowsing.

"I told my mom."

There's a pause in which Marley can tell, by the way Quinn stirs beside her, that she was almost asleep. "What did she say?"

"She'll support me, whatever I choose."

"You're lucky to have your mom."

Marley's hand finds Quinn's, and squeezes.

"That doesn't mean I've made a decision yet."

"I know." Quinn sits up so her mouth isn't pressed into the shoulder of Marley's shirt. " _If_ you decide to move back, what are you planning on doing in New York?"

"I don't know yet, I haven't given it much thought," admits Marley. "There are so many things I _can_ do. I'm not under pressure to pay off loans, or worry about where my next meal is coming from, though." She starts stroking Quinn's hair absently. "I'm not blindly rushing into this. There's plenty of time for me to figure it out."

"I know. I'm overreacting."

"No, you aren't. This is another big and scary adult decision and I know you just want the best for me."

Quinn rolls over. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"We're opening a branch office in LA. I put in a transfer request."

The hand that's tangled in Quinn's hair stills. "Really?"

"I was going to tell you if my request was approved." Quinn meets her eyes. "But before they told me about LA, I was about to tender my resignation."

Marley has lost the ability to process new information; she simply gapes at Quinn, like she's seeing her for the first time. "Why would you…?"

"I never imagined I would ever feel this way about someone, but you're a huge part of my life. You're talented and special and everything, and I – you said it yourself once. I'm an Ivy League graduate twice over; I could have any job I want." She rests her forehead against Marley's temple. "I love my job, but not as much as I love having you as part of my life."

Marley smiles faintly. "Well, I'm glad you're telling me now. I can't have you moving to LA just when I'm moving to New York."

"... Are you being serious, right now?"

"I don't know," admits Marley. "I'm just – I feel like everything's working out, for once. I'm so happy." She buries her nose in Quinn's hair. "Tell me about the jobs you could have, if you _theoretically_ moved to LA. It could give me ideas on what to do with myself if I _theoretically_ moved back to New York."

She feels Quinn laugh, rather than hear it.

* * *

"Happy New Year, Marley." Doctor C beams at her, motioning for her to sit.

"Happy New Year, Doctor C." She sets the small hamper on her therapist's desk. "This was supposed to be for Christmas. Sorry it's a little late."

"Don't worry about it. Better late than never." Eagerly, she tears away the plastic to extract a package of cookies. "I hate to ask, but did your mom make her famous strawberry preserves this year?" She takes a bite and sighs happily.

"She made you a double helping."

The older woman smiles and nods. "Please pass on my thanks."

"Sure."

Doctor C finishes her cookie, and brushes away the last of the crumbs. "So. What's been going on in the life of my favorite client? Plenty of drama?"

Marley blushes. "Not that much."

"Have the holidays been difficult this year?"

"No. I've been eating plenty, and often. I was coaxed into seconds, even."

Doctor C makes a note on her pad. "I'm very glad to hear that. What about in LA?"

"There have been a few difficult times, but Quinn helps. She reminds me to stock up on cereal bars, and she takes an obsessive interest in my diet."

"Even though you live in different time zones?"

"Especially because we live in different time zones."

"Speaking of Quinn, how are the both of you doing? It's quite clear that the two of you are going strong, but is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

Marley hesitates. Doctor C slides the ubiquitous bowl of candy to her.

"We've had more than our fair share of difficulties," begins Marley softly. "There was an incident in which she was forced to confront some old ghosts from her past. She was upset, and she took it out on me."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Hurt." A piece of candy slips out of her fingers. "Like everything we'd built meant nothing. She was shutting me out. She even said – that she thought we should go our separate ways." The memory hurts, even now. "I know she didn't really mean it, that she was just trying to push me away. I mean – I know it's something she does, and I accused her of doing it before, but when it actually happened I was stunned. It felt like I'd been slapped in the face."

"Have you talked about it since?"

Marley nods. "Yeah, we have. She didn't shy away from that; I'm proud of her."

The therapist nods. "That's good." She writes something else down.

"Quinn has a lot of baggage," she says. Marley picks up another candy, unwrapping it. "Until now, there's a lot I don't know about her. I feel like… she's a Russian doll. Just when I think that's all she's hiding, there's something else big and important that gets revealed. It doesn't directly impact us, but I feel it's important because it's shaped her as a person."

"We've talked about this before," says Doctor C. "Would you say there's been positive or negative progress?"

"Positive. Baby steps, but still steps."

The therapist nods slowly. "One question."

"Yeah?"

"Quinn is clearly a very important part of your life. As much as I think your relationship with her is good and healthy, you've been living apart for nearly a year. I'm a little concerned that I'm not hearing enough about you growing as an individual."

"... What do you mean?"

"Marley, our sessions are about you. My primary concern is your growth and well-being. I'm not a relationship counsellor, where I would be interested in helping the two of you together. Do you understand?"

Marley nods. "Yes."

"What I've been noticing is that your development over the past few years has been closely tied to Quinn. Even moving to different cities hasn't changed that." She clasps her hands together and rests them on the desk in front of her. "So my question is: how much would be different, if – touch wood – you and Quinn were to break up?"

"I… I understand what you're asking me, but I don't think there's any cause for concern. I love what I do in LA. I've started writing songs again."

"What are they about?"

"Quinn." Marley blushes. "Uh, I have friends there."

"Your own circle, or yours and Quinn's circle?"

She throws up her hands in defeat. "Okay. I get it. I guess now would a good time to tell you I'm considering moving back to New York."

"Because the distance is affecting your relationship with Quinn?"

"No."

Doctor C gives her a look.

"... That's part of the reason. But not the only one."

"I know."

Marley stares. "Then why ask?"

"Marley, I'm your therapist. I'm not your life coach, or your mentor. And as your therapist, my only concern is that no matter how impartial and unbiased you think your eventual decision may be, the truth is that it's impossible for you to separate Quinn from the decision-making process altogether." She reaches for another cookie. "I worry that you may be setting yourself up for disappointment."

Marley chews on her bottom lip. "What?"

"You moved out there for a job; that makes sense. The job will still be there regardless of any emotional or mental changes you may undergo. But moving back for someone is a whole other matter altogether. One or the other may change," continues the therapist. "People are a lot less stable than livelihoods."

"So, are you saying I shouldn't move?"

"I'm definitely not saying that. I can't tell you what to do, Marley."

She runs her hand through her hair. "Okay. Can you tell me what you think I should do now?"

Doctor C hides a smile behind her hand. "You have my email. Write me weekly. Tell me five new things you did for yourself, and yourself alone. Signing up for a class, volunteering, buying yourself something new."

"An exercise in individuality?"

"Something like that." The egg timer on the desk goes off. "And on that note, I think this is a good point to end the session."

"Thanks, Doctor C. See you next year."

"Wait, Marley. Before you go…?"

She turns. "Yeah?"

"I don't disapprove of Quinn," says the therapist. "I think she is a wonderful young woman who clearly adores you, and treats you well. But I want you to be able to think for yourself when making major decisions. Do you remember what you told me about your last relationship?"

Alex, with his green Harry Potter eyes. "Yes."

"You mentioned feeling like you'd forgotten parts of yourself when you were with him. Giving up your personal interests in favor of shared ones. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Yeah. I don't really like it, but… I do."

Doctor C chuckles. "For the record, you used to come in here and cry throughout our sessions. I think this is a distinct improvement."

Marley shrugs, and gives her an embarrassed smile.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _The Bowery_ by William Ryan Key.


	13. Part Twelve

**Part Twelve:** _Holding my breath, last one I've got left 'til I see you_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The Americanization of this chapter, American fact-checking (you mean you people don't have free/pay-per-use airport lounges?), and general beta work done by **Mike**. Any more mistakes spotted are my own.

* * *

"Babe."

Marley looks up from her phone, and grins. "Hey!" She leaps off the bed to envelop her friend in a running tackle of a hug; partly because she's missed Unique so much, but mostly to muss up her outfit and make her screech.

And screech she does, but she clings back to Marley just as tightly. "Oh my God, babe." Unique attempts to surreptitiously pat down her blouse without breaking the hug. "It's been too long!"

"I know!"

"You don't call me enough!"

"We talk for hours at a time!"

"Weekly!"

"We text for all the other days!"

Unique laughs, a deep belly laugh. "I know! I'm just messing with you, don't mind me. It's really more of – oh. My. God! You're here! In front of me!"

Marley giggles and hugs her again. They stand, rocking from side to side, just enjoying each other's presence.

"Where's your better half?"

"Quinn's out with Santana. I didn't really ask, and I don't think I wanna know, anyway." She pulls away to look at Unique properly. "Where's _your_ better half?"

"I left him downstairs with your mom. Knowing her, he's either being interrogated within an inch of his life downstairs, or being stuffed full of home-baked goods." She pauses, a smirk on her lips. "Or both, at the same time."

Marley gasps. "You're an evil woman."

"Your mom made me do it. She promised me halibut _sous vide_ , which – oh my God, since when did _that_ happen? Me and Drew are moving in here, or we are taking your mom back to New York with us." She licks her lips exaggeratedly; Marley laughs, and shoves at her.

"It was her Christmas present. Dan gave me the idea last year." She links her arm with Unique's, and they descend the stairs.

Drew looks up from the kitchen counter island. He has a muffin in one hand – presumably freshly-baked, because the entire place smells of muffins – and a fork in the other. Crumbs litter the plate set in front of him. _Save me_ , he mouths; the girls laugh.

"Unique, darlin', you are just in time to try my world-famous mixed berry muffins," says Millie warmly. "I just tweaked the recipe a little, an' Drew here is takin' his own sweet time tellin' me how they turned out." The last part is said with a glare in his direction that holds no real heat.

Unique goes over to rest her hands on his shoulders. They do this thing where they talk with their eyes, looking at each other intensely. "I think he's too busy swooning over how good they are," she says. "Right, baby?"

He nods. Millie beams at them both. She sets another muffin on his plate, and hands _three_ on another plate to Unique. "If they're that good, don't be shy! I've a whole batch there I need y'all to eat up."

Marley shrugs at them both, smiling sheepishly. She takes one just so Millie won't give her a plate – which, indubitably, will hold more than she can actually eat. "Mom, Unique was saying that you promised her halibut _sous vide_."

"I certainly did." Millie transfers the remaining muffins to a cooling rack. "We got a brand-new grocer, and I gotta say, it's a real step up from Save-A-Lot. Drew and Unique were so kind to swing by and pick up a few things for me before they came here. Speakin' of which…" Millie reaches for her purse.

"It's no trouble at all, Mrs Rose," says Drew quickly, mouth finally void of muffin. "You're taking the trouble to cook, and we'll be eating the food anyways."

"It's Millie, sweetheart. Or Mom."

" _Mom_!" protests Marley, embarrassed on behalf of Unique, who's pink enough for it to be visible over her dark complexion.

"Like how that one does it," laughs the older woman. "No formalities 'round here; you're all family, hon."

"Thanks, Millie – Mom," says Unique in barely a whisper. Drew gives Unique this soft grin that softens his naturally stern expression, and makes him resemble a teddy bear. "We really appreciate it."

Marley slings an arm around her best friend's waist. They weren't in Lima for Christmas because they were spending the holidays with Drew's family in Michigan, and are now visiting the only family Unique has left in town.

"Family don't mean y'all get out of payin' for groceries," adds Millie. "My kitchen, my rules. Receipt or y'all don't get fed."

Marley hides a laugh behind her hand.

"Before you give yourself a conniption laughin', my girl, you're my kitchen assistant, so you'll be workin' for your supper too." Millie pats her butt affectionately as she shoos her biological daughter towards the stove. To Drew and Unique, she points out a drawer and says: "If you both ain't fussy about hard work, we could always use a coupla extra hands. Aprons're in the drawer, and there's plenty to be done around here since I promised _sous vide_ cookin'."

"But – muffins," protests Unique. "You just gave these to me."

"Oh, hmm. That's true. Then the pair of you stay guests an' finish your muffins, then back to work? Nothin' better'en muffins fresh outta the oven."

Marley turns around indignantly. "I have muffins to eat too!"

"You've been eatin' my muffins for years, my girl; the muffins can stand a little while, but my sauce can't." She kisses Marley's cheek, using the opportunity to push a wooden spoon into her daughter's hand.

"No fair," she whines – mostly for Drew's benefit, because Unique has seen plenty of variations of this dog-and-pony show over the years. But she grins at her friends over her mom's shoulder, and flashes them a cheesy thumbs-up.

* * *

When she booked her flight home for the holidays, flying to New York was her immediate priority. Being able to afford a round-trip flight via New York is now the least of her problems, but it seems almost embarrassing to fly back to Los Angeles using the same route as well.

Marley's flight west leaves at night, about two hours after Quinn's flight east. That gives them most of the day together.

Parting hurts less than it used to. Marley can't decide if it's because she's getting used to it, or that she won't let herself get emotional over it.

She curls her fingers around Quinn's arm. Despite all the turmoil generated by the most diverse group of people to graduate from McKinley High a couple of years back, she isn't comfortable with being openly affectionate in their small town. "What did you want to do?"

"Mmm, nothing in particular." Quinn suppresses a soft yawn. "I'm looking forward to having a holiday to recover from my holiday."

Marley lets out an undignified snort. "Right?" Her gaze roams the airport, until – "Oh, hey," she says suddenly.

"What?"

"The airport lounge."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You have to buy a pass for those, and we'd only be using them for a couple of hours."

"We should go have a look, anyway." And Marley leads the way, practically dragging Quinn behind her.

She can almost feel Quinn swallowing the _told you so_ she undoubtedly has on the tip of her tongue when the receptionist quotes a hefty sum for two one-day passes to the lounge. Marley thanks the woman for her time, and turns to Quinn – only to stare, stunned, as her girlfriend pulls her credit card out of her purse and hands it to the receptionist.

"Quinn, what?"

"I'm not squeezing into a Starbucks, or even – " she wrinkles her nose " – a cramped seat in some _godforsaken_ corner of the terminal. Especially not when it's the last few hours I'm spending with you." The last is spoken in low tones, as the receptionist passes Quinn two vouchers. "Besides, it's not as though we're still broke college students."

Marley shakes her head. Her internal miser is speechless with horror. She squirms, uncomfortable at the perceived waste of money, until Quinn reaches out to hold her hand.

"Breathe, sweetheart," says Quinn. She squeezes, once, as she leads the way to the most secluded corner of the lounge.

Marley's fingers automatically curl around Quinn's, the touch and endearment soothing her immediately. She lets Quinn gently push her into a squashy armchair.

"Are you alright?"

Marley smiles, amused. "Better, though you could've warned me before buying the passes," she says, mock-stern.

Quinn laughs. "Surprise?" She casts a surreptitious glance around – the receptionist has her head down, and the only other occupant of the lounge is facing away from them – before bending to kiss Marley.

"Mmm. Apology accepted." She steals a last peck before Quinn pulls away, also glancing around – for very different reasons from Quinn's. "Oooh, there's a drinks bar."

"Of course there is, for the price I'm paying," says Quinn, arching an eyebrow.

She swats Quinn's shoulder in mild reproof. "Go get drinks. I want a black tea, please."

"Yes, ma'am." Quinn's eyes sparkle with amusement as she salutes Marley, and walks away. Marley follows her movements for a few seconds before she catches herself.

By the time Quinn returns with two mugs of tea, Marley has her book out. She smiles gratefully at Quinn, who settles in the chair to the right with a sigh. "God, this is comfy," she says, pulling out a book.

"And private." There's nobody in the immediate vicinity; it may as well be a private lounge. It's a pleasant change from the bustle of the main terminal. "What are you reading now?" asks Marley.

" _Antifragile_."

"Wait, you haven't finished it?" She squints at the dust jacket. "I _thought_ that cover looked familiar."

Quinn smiles. "I struggled through it in junior year, and gave up halfway through at the beginning of senior year. I finally felt intelligent enough to try again now I'm an Ivy League graduate twice over." She tucks a bookmark into her book. "Yours looks tiny in comparison."

"I didn't feel like lugging anything big. It's supposed to be a holiday." Marley sticks a finger in so she can shut her own book and show Quinn the cover of _The Phantom Tollbooth_. "I forgot I had a copy in my room."

"I've heard of this one," muses Quinn. "It's very witty. Do you like it so far?"

"I do. I laughed out loud at all the puns and plays on words." She flips it open again until she finds her favourite passage about the royal meal in Dictionopolis, and reads it aloud. Quinn laughs at all the right moments.

"I love that."

"Thought you might," says Marley happily. "I'll send you a copy."

Quinn smiles, nods her acquiescence, and reaches for her tea.

* * *

About forty-five minutes before Quinn's due to report to her boarding gate, she stands up. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Alright," says Marley distractedly. She turns a page and reads on.

A pressure settles on her knees; bemused, Marley glances up – and sucks in a breath through her teeth when she meets Quinn's eyes. She's close enough that Marley can feel her hot breath on her lips, that she could tip forward a few more inches and kiss her. "You should come with me," she says, a mischievous spark turning hazel into green and – Marley knows what _that_ look means.

"Okay," says Marley, dazed. She shoves her bookmark into her page and attempts to put the book on the table; Quinn giggles when Marley misses the table completely, and the book thumps to the floor.

"You should take better care of your books," chides Quinn. She stoops to retrieve the book, wiping away invisible dirt from the dust jacket and laying it beside their empty mugs.

Marley shakes her head, smiling. "I was distracted."

"Can't imagine why."

"But, our things?"

"They'll be fine, this is a private lounge. I didn't shell out nearly a hundred bucks to worry about luggage. I've thought of everything, now please shut up and let's go." Quinn leads the way, keeping her grip on Marley's wrist.

"Is there any reason you needed company for the bathroom?" asks Marley, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I mean – we're not in high school anymore. I'm pretty sure bathroom time isn't a group activity."

"You mean, apart from kissing you?" Quinn backs them into a stall.

"You could've kissed me outside." Marley walks her fingers up Quinn's shirt, knowing it will annoy her. "Any reason we have to hide in a stall?"

"You know why." Quinn bats away her hand with a sound of annoyance, and takes advantage of its newly-unoccupied status to pin her wrist against the wall.

"Nope," says Marley, "not a clue." It's a struggle keeping her breathing normal when Quinn starts kissing up the side of her neck. "Did you lock the door?"

Quinn reaches out and snaps the latch into place. "Yes."

Marley giggles, and sinks her fingers into Quinn's hair as she tries to maintain her equilibrium. "Why are we doing this here, instead of – I don't know, somewhere _more_ private? Like this morning, at home?" _Where you'd have time to ravage me properly,_ goes unsaid.

"Because we were having a nice brunch with your mom, and I'm not about to take that time away from you. Also, my flight leaves in – " Quinn checks the time on Marley's wristwatch, " – thirty-five minutes, and yours in two-and-a-half hours, to opposite ends of the country," says Quinn, in between kisses, "and I have no clue when I'll be seeing you again."

"Thirty-five minutes? That's not much time." She's being deliberately difficult, which Marley has learned will drive Quinn to do many fun things to her – especially now, when they're on a tight schedule. "Not that I don't like you being… _spontaneous_ , but…"

Her girlfriend growls softly. "But then you should stop asking questions designed to annoy me, and focus on keeping quiet." Quinn plucks at the collar of the white button-up so she can nip at the skin of Marley's shoulder. "God, I swear you knew what you in this shirt does to me."

She inhales sharply as Quinn's hand yanks up her hem and slips under, caressing her lower back. "I, uh," she momentarily loses her train of thought when Quinn's mouth latches onto her neck, "I don't know what you're talking about." Marley honestly has no ulterior motive for liking her button-ups. Quinn's attention is just a nice bonus.

"Shhh."

Marley groans. She tips her head back when the hand sneaks lower, under her belt, and into the waistband of her (conspicuously damp) panties. "Oh – "

Quinn swallows further sounds with a bruising kiss – and there are plenty more, when fingers start stroking her clit. Marley whimpers and fists Quinn's dress; she knows her girlfriend won't appreciate the wrinkles, but she doesn't care about that now.

"I'm already – _mmm_ – already so close," she says. Her hips rock shamelessly against Quinn's hand.

"Only close?" Quinn sucks on the pulse point in her neck.

"Ha-harder." Marley stuffs her lower lip between her teeth so she won't scream. "Yes. _There_." She whimpers, knees buckling as she comes hard. Quinn's hand on her wrist – still pinning her against the wall – keeps her from folding in on herself embarrassingly.

"You call that being quiet?" Quinn kisses her softly, taking away some of the sting from her abused lower lip. Marley tilts her head to kiss back, her hand on Quinn's cheek, directing Quinn where she wants her.

"You try keeping quiet when your naughty girlfriend randomly decides she wants to ravish you in an airport bathroom." Marley kisses her again, deeper this time; Quinn laughs, and puts some space between them.

"I know that look," says Quinn. "This is about you, not me." She abruptly leans in to peck the disappointed pout off Marley's lips. "Believe me, I got everything I need from watching you."

"Pervert," says Marley.

Quinn smiles. "Okay, serious now. I was dreading saying goodbye, so I decided to be… spontaneous."

It's impossible for her to remember she had reservations about semi-public sex when Quinn's in a playful mood; and thus, impossible to resist. "Very spontaneous, indeed."

The fond smile slips a little. "... Was it okay? It's a bit much, I know…"

"It was fine. Unexpected, but if I didn't want to, I would have stopped you earlier." Marley checks her watch. "We have another… ten minutes left, which should be enough for _real_ goodbyes." She shoots a pointed little look at Quinn, which Marley intended to ease Quinn's fears.

It works. Quinn's expression loses its uncertainty as she laughs, the sound low and easy. "One day, I promise, I'll be good with words."

"I'll hold you to that," she says. Marley's fingertips run over Quinn's face, smoothing away strands of hair mussed from their activities. "Which reminds me. I read this book in LA which reminds me of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. _Kintsugi_."

"... What?"

"It's a Japanese artform." She kisses the side of Quinn's mouth softly; lips dragging over skin. "The art of repairing broken cups and bowls with gold, so it becomes unique, and more beautiful than when it was whole." Her fingers wind into Quinn's hair, holds her close. "Like you."

Quinn's hot breath gusts over Marley's mouth, but that's all the contact they have now. "I remind you of a broken bowl?"

"You aren't cute when you play dumb." Marley's fingertip follows the bridge of Quinn's nose and hops off at the tip, gliding over the seam of full lips. "I meant that there is a special beauty in things that have overcome hardships. I would show you photos, but I'm a bit busy right now." She smiles, amused, when Quinn's lips part at the slightest pressure from her thumb.

"Mmm. I can Google it later, I guess," says Quinn, sounding breathless.

* * *

They make it to Quinn's gate, hand-in-hand and breathless, as the last call for her flight blares over the intercom. There's just enough time for a quick hug, Quinn's lips on her cheek and a whispered, _I'll see you soon_ in her ear before Quinn disappears inside.

* * *

Marley has plenty of things to think about on her flight to LA.

Despite everything her therapist has said about her relationship with Quinn, and despite a part of her agreeing with her therapist, it's so easy to throw caution to the wind and stay helplessly, hopelessly, in love with Quinn. Especially after this morning alone…

She blushes, and glances around self-consciously.

Just about everyone important to her knows that she wants to return to New York, but she hasn't been completely candid to any one of them. They don't know that she's gotten as far as _planning_ – and Marley would like to keep it that way. Part of her can't wait any longer, and wants to return to New York for good. Another part wants to call Quinn and make plans for when she's moving to Los Angeles.

Which is a very good reason for her to start on Doctor C's homework immediately. She knows her therapist was right to call her out on her emotional dependency, especially since it's led her to come to an important conclusion:

On her last trip to visit her in LA, Quinn confessed to her about not wanting to become emotionally dependent on (and thus vulnerable to) anyone, even her…

… implying that she isn't on the same level as Marley, who's already there.

Marley sighs. Doctor C had already advised her to simply enjoy what time they could find together. She'd already failed one thing; she won't do that again.

* * *

Her cozy house lacks a lot of the touches that make a house _home_.

She drops her suitcase on the floor, her duffel following suit. Marley places her hands on her hips and surveys the place. She'd planned her trip so that she'll have the weekend to rest before heading back to work on Monday, and a weekend is plenty of time to be making changes to herself.

Originally, she'd intended to spend it with Quinn, but Quinn couldn't get the leave. And now, her weekend alone has become serendipitous to her homework assignment.

Marley's house was part of her contract deal. Atlantic was to find somewhere for her to live while she's employed there, and they pay part of her rent (because with the prices in LA, there's no way a junior producer can afford a home from the get-go).

It's a proper _house_ and not a shoebox apartment only because the agent happened to have that property on hand when Atlantic's office called, and the rental was reasonable, so well – it reminds her how lucky Marley is to be that wanted, that the company would go to those lengths to have her on the team.

Since she doesn't own the place, there's a limit on the things she can do, like no major renovations. Redecorating is fair game, however.

* * *

Bright and early on Saturday morning, she goes around the whole house with a notepad and pencil, making a list of things she wants to change.

It gets surprisingly long. Marley's a little ashamed of that. For the longest time, she's treated the house as a temporary place, somewhere she's only staying for the time being before she moves to a place more permanent.

By changing these things, she's actively making this house a _home_. Which is a good thing, except acknowledging that she may be living long-term in a city that doesn't have her girlfriend in it is –

It eats away at her stomach and creates a pit of anxiety. It's not a good feeling.

But this is healthy. This is what her therapist mentioned – she's getting rid of this dependency on Quinn and becoming her own person. And like any other addiction, rehab hurts. Heck, Marley's had plenty of experience kicking her eating disorder.

Speaking of which…

… she needs to eat breakfast. Her stomach is protesting.

Marley makes an omelette, and toast to go with it. As she eats, she checks her phone for any furniture stores she can go browse in. She has the afternoon to herself.

See, that's the thing she likes about LA; she has a car, and she doesn't have to rustle up a posse to help her carry large purchases home. Marley can also cover more ground as long as she knows which way she's driving and what she's looking for.

Or… she can park somewhere and chance it on foot. Either way appeals to her.

Marley puts on Santana's album in the car because why not? She's not being blindly loyal; Santana is good at what she does, Rachel's just as amazing at writing music, and she's an above-average producer.

While she doesn't want to shop at antique stores with stuff that's easily a monthly paycheck, Marley doesn't want to end up buy something kitschy or touristy; she's lived in the city long enough that she doesn't pass as a tourist anymore.

Marley ends up buying dish towels with cute retro prints, to replace the plain blue ones the house came with, and a new spatula (the one she has doesn't feel right in her hand). It feels like a small milestone, but it's enough that she heads for her late afternoon appointment with a smile.

"Hey!" Brittany greets her enthusiastically. "You're early!"

"I finished my stuff earlier than expected." She follows Brittany into the spacious studio, setting her bag in the corner the older girl indicates. "More time for this."

"Great." Brittany looks her up and down; Marley squirms a little under the scrutiny. "Let's do some warm-ups before we start?"

Her friend easily drops into a few long, languid stretches that Marley has no hope of imitating perfectly. She does her best, and within fifteen minutes they're warmed up and ready to go.

"I thought we should start off with something easy, since you haven't danced in a while," says Brittany. She goes to retrieve her phone and hook it up to the studio's sound system. "Normally when Mike comes to visit, we just wing it, but I think we should start off with learning a routine so your body remembers how to move, then we can freestyle."

Marley smiles. "Mike visits?"

"Yeah! But not frequently. I'll like, totally call you the next time he does."

"So what are we doing? Mr Schue's classic one-two-shuffle?" asks Marley teasingly.

"A step up," laughs Brittany. The music pulses, and she dissolves into a fluid routine. Marley watches, her eye picking out moves and trying them. She's rusty enough that she feels like she's having an epileptic fit doing them.

When the song ends, Brittany walks over, pink in the face. "What do you think?"

Marley shrugs. "Looks fun. Lets get started."

She gets most of the moves down after a few tries, but it's her stamina that's lacking rather than muscle memory. An hour in, and Marley's redder than Brittany ever was, panting for breath.

"We should take a water break," says Brittany casually. She's not even breathing hard, and Marley wants to flop on her and die. But she manages to nod, say, "Sounds good", and retrieve her water bottle from her bag. Half of it ends up on her face.

"How were your holidays?" asks Brittany.

"Pretty good, considering." Marley wipes her face with her sports towel. "We had dinner with Shelby and Beth."

"Oh! You've met Beth. She looks just like Quinn, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, and she acts like Puck. It's a little disturbing. Thanks for the presents, by the way."

"It's totally okay. We're just sorry we couldn't be there with everyone. It's been a while since we saw San and Rachel." Brittany's blue eyes cloud over momentarily. "Is Rachel being good for her?"

"They seem really happy," offers Marley.

"That's good." Brittany takes a sip of water. "I was worried for her. This happens to be one of those alternate universes where Brittana doesn't last forever, but I didn't know who she'd end up with."

"Brittana?"

"Me and Santana, duh. Brittana. That's our power couple name."

"Right," says Marley, nodding.

"MIT taught me a bit about branching universes and alternate realities, so I calculated the chances of us in nearly all the possible universes," Brittany explains, demeanour serious as though she's delivering a TED talk. "The chances of us not being Brittana is really, really small, but not as small as the chances of you and Quinn. Or me and Finn, actually. That makes us really special 'cause we all exist in the same universe, at the same time." She frowns suddenly. "I don't have Tubbs on mental link right now, so I can't ask him to double check our calculations."

"Okay, Britt." She lost Brittany somewhere around alternate realities, but Marley knows better than to tell her friend that she's not making any sense. "Honestly, though, I think the amazing part is that we're all still friends. Sort of."

Marley draws her knees closer, resting her chin on top of them. "Britt, can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure," replies Brittany. "Fire away."

She's thought a lot about this, and come to the conclusion that Brittany and Finn's situation are most parallel to her own. "I heard from Unique that Finn moved here to be with you."

"Oh, that." She rubs her nose. "Yeah. That's kinda complicated. And a long story. It started when Tubbs ordered a coffee from the Lima Bean…"

Marley blinks in surprise. "I know about that bit," she interrupts gently, "about him, uh, opening his gourmet coffee business."

"Oh, goody. Then maybe you should buy a bag from him." Brittany digs around in her bag, retrieves an honest-to-goodness business card for Marley. It has a cartoonized version of Lord Tubbington holding a mug of coffee on it, and the legend ' _Tubbington's Finest Pawffee_ '.

"This is… amazing, Britt," says Marley, equal parts impressed and confused – this was actually a real thing? Not just one of Brittany's – _well_ – Brittany-isms? As much as she adored her friend, there was no denying that she existed in a reality that only occasionally intersects with everyone else's. She turns over the card, scanning the list of Tubbington's social media.

"Sam designed the logo," she explains. "Finn helped print the cards. Look, _Fondue for Two_ is a social media partner." She points at a space halfway down the list. "Also _Queso por Dos_. Tubbs is very particular about bilingualism."

Marley decides that here and now isn't the right place to ask questions about Brittany's cat and his coffee business (and she has _so_ many questions). She tucks the card into her bag. "Maybe we can talk another time? But I really wanted to ask you – "

"– how Finn and I got together, because you and Quinn are in the same situation and you wanna compare so you know what to do?" finishes Brittany.

She should have known better than to be indirect with Brittany. Defeated, Marley nods. "How did you know…?"

"It's written all over your face." Brittany wrinkles her nose. "Not literally, though, like when Finn ate all of Tubbs' snickerdoodles and he drew on Finn's face with a Sharpie in revenge while Finn was napping. But like, it's clear as though you wrote with a Sharpie." Her expression turns sad. "But we took a while. I dated Sam for a bit after San graduated, and we even got married. Then Blaine asked him to move to New York with him, to join everyone else, and I went to MIT."

Marley refrains from reminding Brittany that she was present through most of this. "Uh-huh."

"Which was really awesome, because I learned that the numbers in my head that I thought were just coded messages from aliens messing with me actually mean a lot of important things to the really smart guys at MIT, but being smart Brittany is hard. I'm best at being just Brittany, so I quit," she explains.

"Okay."

"Being just Brittany means I get to dance all I want and do other stuff I like. Tubbs and I talked about it, and we decided the best place we can do all the things we wanna do is Los Angeles. I had some money after making a time dislocator invention with the MIT guys, so we used that to move here, and start Tubbs' company." She shifts a bit so her back rests against the wall.

"While we were getting our stuff ready for the move, Finn and I spent a lot of time together. At first, I thought I wanted to spend time with him because he's the only guy from Glee I haven't had sex with – that is, out of the guys who actually want to have sex with me – because of all the Quinn and Santana and Rachel drama, but… he's super nice. He doesn't roll his eyes when I don't understand some of the long words that people use. With more than four silicons."

"Syllables?" suggests Marley, and Brittany nods.

"Yeah. He just gets me. I like that I can be the one explaining stuff to him sometimes. I was sad when I was leaving, and he was sticking with Burt to work in the tire shop." Brittany sighs. "I told him he should come with us, because he'd have plenty more work there; there're a lot more tires to fix in LA, because it's hot and the tires melt on the road."

"What happened after that?"

She beams brightly. "A couple of months later, he just showed up here. Said he'd gotten my address from Sam, and that he woke up one morning and decided that fixing tires were the same everywhere, but fixing tires in LA would be good because then he'd get to see me a lot more." Brittany shrugs a shoulder. "The sex part happened a lot later," she adds, completely unnecessarily.

"Wow," says Marley quietly. "That was quite a story – apart from, you know, the last bit." She clears her throat. "Thanks for sharing that with me, Britt."

"No problem." She scoots over so she can rest her head on Marley's shoulder. "You're sad," says Brittany quietly, "why are you sad?"

"Well…" Marley lets her cheek rest on Brittany's head. "I had to choose between here and my dream job, or New York and Quinn. And I was double-thinking that for a while, thinking maybe I'd made the wrong choice because it was hard on the both of us."

"That sucks."

"Yeah." She hugs her knees closer. "So I was considering moving back, and then Quinn talked about moving here. Which was good, except my therapist said I'm being too emotionally dependent on Quinn."

Brittany frowns. "What does that mean?"

"Like…" She pauses to think over her words. "It means that Quinn is the only thing that makes me happy. Not my job or hobbies or anything else."

"Oh. That's not ideal. I don't think it's very healthy to make somebody your whole universe. Like, the reason we have planets and meteorites and other space stuff is so everything doesn't swing out of balance whenever something changes. Like global warming."

"I know," says Marley with a sigh. While accepting Doctor C's words was hard, having the entire complex idea broken down, Brittany-style, was worse because it made perfect sense. "So… yeah. I'm trying to find other things that make me happy so I don't rush into big and potentially dumb decisions."

"I don't think you can make dumb decisions," says Brittany, "apart from, y'know, not eating properly and all. But that wasn't all you, so I suppose that's okay." She gets up, stretching like a cat. "I think we've had enough of a break, so we should get back to dancing."

* * *

 _Started dance classes_ , she writes to Doctor C. _Maybe starting regular massage therapy at this rate. Also, attended a free lecture about alternate realities and universes._

 _That would count as three items_ , replies Doctor C. _You've been busy._

* * *

On Sunday, she and Finn go out on a food truck hunt. They're armed with a list of famous food trucks from a website meant for people new to LA (Marley), and a mental map of LA's roads and its shortcuts (Finn).

"Okay, the schedule says they should be there already," says Marley, thumb scrolling down her phone screen, "at Glendon and Wilshire."

"Glendon and Wilshire, copy," says Finn absently, taking a hard left at the next intersection. "What are they famous for, again?"

"Lobster rolls."

"Oh, yeah." He grins. "I love lobster rolls. I remember learning in History class that people thought they were a bug or something, so nobody ate them. Imagine how desperate was the first guy to eat a lobster."

"I tried one for the sake of having eaten them, so I'm looking forward to this – oh, hey! Pull up!" She points up ahead, to a large black truck parked on the curb. Finn does, and parallel parks in double-time. "Nice," he says, holding up a hand for Marley to high-five.

There isn't much of a queue for a Sunday afternoon, so they're back in the car with a lobster roll and a grin each under twenty minutes.

"'Dish ish aweshum," says Finn, mouth full.

Marley, far more well-mannered, simply nods.

Finn finishes wolfing down his roll and belches. "Oh, man," he says, reaching for a wet wipe from the glove compartment, idly licking a smudge of mayonnaise from his thumb, "I really want another one, but we're gonna head for a few more trucks, so I really shouldn't. But, _so_ good." Finn belches again. "What's next?"

"Gross, Finn," complains Marley, but unlocks her phone and hands it to him anyway. "You pick the next one."

"Cool." He grins suddenly. "Your wallpaper's cute."

"Huh?"

He minimizes the browser and angles her phone, showing her the photo of Quinn and herself from Quinn's last visit to LA.

"Oh. Thanks."

Finn goes back to scrolling through the list of food trucks. Marley resumes eating, chewing thoughtfully.

She hadn't intended on asking Finn for his side of the story today, but… it's tempting. Brittany's obese, business-inclined cat aside, she's rather curious about how Finn – small-town, simple Finn – decides to travel hundreds of miles for a girl he wasn't even _dating_ at the time. He couldn't for Rachel, and she was his _fiancée_ at the time.

"How about this one?" says Finn abruptly, breaking into her thoughts. He shows her a photo of a large taco almost bursting with stuffings. "It's not far from here."

"Looks good."

The instant she's disposed of her lobster roll's wrapping into the empty paper bag that sits between them, Finn releases the handbrake and pulls out of their lot. "Excited?" asks Marley pointedly.

"Oh yeah," he says, grinning. "Me and my firehouse buddies don't really have time for this, and it's been a while since Britt and I went on a proper hunt."

"Should I be concerned about how many trucks we're gonna visit today?"

"Not that many. Promise."

* * *

Marley loses track of how much calories they've consumed – after the third stop, merely watched Finn consume – sometime in the middle of the day. It's partly her fault, really; she'd spotted a handmade sign advertising a food truck festival while they were getting lost in the outskirts of town.

Finn had been positively euphoric to see so many trucks parked together, meaning they could sample as much as they could stomach without having to drive around. The event organizers had even been as thoughtful as to provide plastic chairs and tables for people to sit and eat, meaning…

"Please, Marley?"

She groans. "I'm stuffed, and you're disgusting."

Finn grins, looking abashed. "It's the famous loaded triple chocolate butterscotch caramel milkshake, c'mon… I can't finish it on my own."

"I'm not stopping you from _getting_ it," exclaims Marley, fighting to keep the smile from her face, "all I'm saying is that I will _burst_ if I eat any more, so don't expect any help from _me_."

He pouts. "You'll change your mind," he says, taking out his wallet and walking off towards the truck. "It's _that_ good."

Marley sits at the nearest unoccupied table to wait for him. While she's too full to drink (really, it should be eat given something as solid as the milkshake), she does have a bottle of craft beer that she's taking her time to finish.

Finn ambles over, a beer in his hand.

"What happened to your milkshake?"

"Brittany texted. Her dance class is over, so she's headed here to join us. I told her to bring her appetite." Finn looks positively gleeful that he has another partner in crime to eat with him. "I'll wait." He leans over to tap his beer to Marley's. "Cheers."

They drink. Marley's attention is on her sweating beer bottle, picking at the label as it slowly peels away.

"Something on your mind?"

She blinks. "What?"

Finn shrugs. "I can sense when people have stuff on their minds. I've been well-trained."

Marley laughs, despite herself. "Well-trained alright."

"Yeah. Would it have anything to do with what you and Britt talked about yesterday?"

"How did you kn – she told you about it?"

"Yeah, if you call her sitting me down last night and saying: _Finny, I think Marley has something she wants to ask you about so remember to ask her in case she's doing that nervous fidgety thing when she's got heavy thoughts_ to me, telling me about it," Finn says casually. "She didn't give me more details than that."

"Oh."

"So, what is it you wanna ask me?"

"Well, I…" Her mouth twists as she attempts to phrase her question. "What made you move out here in the first place?"

Finn's eyes go very wide and he blinks at her, like a fish out of water. "Whuh?"

"Brittany told me her side – which mostly was about Lord Tubbington and his coffee empire…" Marley frowns, and then resumes. "But she mentioned you showing up here unexpectedly."

"Um." Finn goes pink, pushing up the brim of his baseball cap to rub at his forehead. "That, well… it gets kinda complicated."

"I never figured you to do complicated," says Marley warmly, and Finn chuckles.

"Yeah. Guess I picked that up from Rachel; sometimes the difficult stuff is really worth it, y'know." He gives her his trademark lopsided grin. "Britt's more on my level than any other girl I've dated, but in a good way. She gets me, you know? And it goes both ways, especially since I talked to her a lot more and I got to understand the stuff she says better."

Marley nods.

"I'll admit I was scared of leaving Lima because everywhere else seemed so… big and impossible," he continues. "Like the big city would eat you up and spit you back out if you weren't careful."

She remembers how she felt on her first day in New York, and all the times throughout when she was certain she wouldn't make it. "I think I know what you mean."

Finn nods. "Everybody was so desperate to get out of Lima. But I didn't really see the appeal of the stuff they were willing to risk failure for. I'm good at fixing cars. I liked being who I was. But after she left, I woke up one day and thought that whatever Brittany was talking about, the life she imagined… it _was_ worth it, you know?" He clears his throat. "Except that, it only seemed worth it with her around. Not with anyone else."

"But more than that, I guess… it comes down to the person that I was when I was with Britt. She doesn't make me feel like I was wasting my potential, or that I'm stuck anywhere. She doesn't make me a better person, but she helps me make _me_ a better person." Finn rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "... I hope that made sense, 'cause I have no idea how to make that easier to understand."

"No, I understood that just fine." Marley reaches out to pat Finn's arm. "I… that made a lot of sense."

He gives her a wide relieved smile. "Oh, good. That's great. I hope that helped with… whatever's going on with you, right now."

Marley nods slowly. She returns his smile. "Definitely. Thanks, Finn."

Brittany approaches them. "Hi, Finny. Hi, Marley. Finny, you said to bring my appetite and now I know why because I saw this milkshake that I think you'd like." She sets the massive mug she's been carrying with both hands on the table. "It's a loaded triple chocolate –

"– butterscotch caramel milkshake," he finishes. Finn's eyes go wide, then crinkle as he beams. "Awesome, babe." He kisses Brittany's cheek.

* * *

"Ready?"

"Ready." Quinn has a plastic bag in her hand emblazoned with her local bookstore's logo. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a brand-new copy of Gregory MacGuire's _Wicked_.

"Got your iced tea?"

Quinn drags the mug into the frame. "Yep. You?"

Marley takes a sip of hers. "Our official Skype book club's first meeting. I've been waiting for this," she says, and opens her copy of the same book. "I'm so excited. I've been wanting to read this since I listened to the cast recording."

"You haven't watched the musical yet?"

"No, but Rachel's promised to take me the next time they have a revival. I'd ask you the same, but then again, your best friend is Rachel Berry."

Quinn laughs. "She took me to the Broadway staging in our sophomore year."

"I'm not surprised. I think a more accurate question would be to ask, what _haven't_ you watched yet?"

"You're lucky you asked me this in Rachel's absence," says Quinn lightly. Her mug occupies a full corner of the screen. "I don't think my iPad battery can survive the list."

Marley shakes her head fondly. "Okay, I think I've taken up enough of your time." She checks the clock on the wall. "I'll call you back in two hours?"

"Think you can pry yourself away from the book that long?" Quinn teases her, and Marley huffs good-naturedly.

"For you, maybe," she says, and blows her webcam a kiss. "See you soon."

* * *

After the minor success of Trent Morgan, Marley's given a new talent – an alternative rock band making their second album – and a lot more creative license. It helps that the guys have some creative vision of what they want their new project to be, but unlike Trent, they haven't written enough music to make up a full album.

And of course, they're on a strict schedule.

The perfectly logical response to all this is for her to buy a plant.

It's a spider plant which she names Peter Parker because it's a _spider_ plant, and she… she doesn't have any other good ideas, being completely drained of creative energy after a full day trying to whip the new album into shape.

She's not a geek. Not really. It just meant she listened to Sam when he waxed lyrical about the merits of Professor Weird versus Doctor Y (or something like that) on those long bus rides to show choir competitions.

Anyway.

It counts as something for herself and her house; and she picks the side table next to the big French window for his perch.

Her email to Doctor C includes a photo attachment of Peter Parker in his new home, and a note asking if Sam's influence, as an ex-boyfriend of Quinn's, counts.

Doctor C writes back promptly to say she isn't the therapy police, and that Peter looks happy.

* * *

Marley's proud to have progressed on to bigger things. A large suede couch now takes pride of place in her living room because she thinks it's cozier than the original leather piece, and she ordered a matching footstool online.

The throw blanket she got for Christmas occupies half the couch, perfect for cold nights. Marley has it on good authority that she might be getting another patchwork quilt for her next birthday, so the other couch is taken care of.

* * *

Quinn calls her on Skype. Her bemused expression fills the screen. "Hey, Marley."

"Hey, you." She pushes aside the little ache in her chest on seeing her girlfriend. "What's up?"

In answer, she holds up a brown bag. A familiar logo is printed on the side, Lord Tubbington's beady eyes staring back at her.

"Oh! You got it!" exclaims Marley excitedly.

"I did," confirms Quinn, eyes crinkling at the sides. "I thought it was a joke."

"Yeah, same. But then I went to the warehouse – "

"There's a _warehouse_?"

Marley giggles. " _Yes_. That was my reaction, too. Have you tried it yet?"

"No, I literally just got home and Halley thrust it at me… the three idiots say hi, by the way…"

"Tell them I said hi back," says Marley, smiling. She puts her iPad on the bed and flops down on her stomach in front of it, hands cradling her chin. "Don't just sit there – go brew a cup."

"It's eight. I'll be up all night if I drink coffee now," says Quinn, frowning.

Marley waves a hand. "It's also Friday. Come spend the time with me. We'll do something fun – have a Skype sleepover, or watch movies… I could read you this article I found the other day. We could read our book together." Her voice turns wheedling. "I'll make myself a mug too. We'll keep each other company."

"Don't you have things to do tomorrow?" The image quality is just good enough that she can tell that Quinn's expression stays the same. She knows Quinn long enough, though, to guess that her persuasion is working.

"I can easily do them tonight."

"Just how strong _is_ that?"

She dissolves into another fit of giggles. "Let's find out. I haven't actually tried it yet, I just got this bag a couple of days ago." Marley climbs off the bed and runs for the kitchen, tablet in hand. "Look, I've got my moka pot ready to go," she says, aiming the front-facing camera at the aluminium coffee pot.

"You don't really drink coffee."

"I'll make an exception for Brittany and her cat."

Quinn sighs. It comes over as a breathy rush of sound. "... _Fine_. I don't know how I let you talk me into these things…" She trails off, muttering to herself, as she scoops up the iPad and goes to her kitchen.

While the coffee brews, Marley talks about her latest project, and how consensus is an occasional event, not the norm for the band members when it comes to writing songs. Quinn seems a little preoccupied, but listens intently regardless. She lets it go, because nothing good comes out of making Quinn talk when she doesn't want to, and Marley's more interested in spending what time they have together happily. Not fraught with personal issues, or emotional baggage.

At long last, both of them have a steaming mug of _Tubbington's Finest_ (four on Quinn's side, because her housemates are insatiably curious). Marley eyes her coffee with some distaste; she doesn't really take her coffee without copious amounts of sugar and milk, but adding her usual quantity would make her unable to taste the coffee.

Marley opts to take a tiny sip of the black coffee. She scrunches up her nose; it's rich, and very bitter, but there's a smoothness that even a novice coffee drinker like herself can appreciate. Quinn and her housemates seem to love it, however. They drink it black – Marley makes a face, which Quinn sees and laughs at – and immediately look up _Tubbington's Finest_ online to make orders of their own.

"How's your coffee?" asks Quinn, eyes twinkling green – and there's the mischievous Quinn she last saw at Columbus airport. It's clear that despite her earlier trepidation, the coffee has improved her mood tremendously.

Marley sticks her tongue out at her. "Bitter." She makes a show of dumping plenty of milk and sugar into her mug, laughing at the disgusted expression on Quinn's face. "As good as this coffee is – or you say it is – I'm really not a coffee person." Marley takes a sip and makes a noise of satisfaction, smacking her lips exaggeratedly. " _Now_ it's good."

"Philistine," says Quinn fondly. "So, since we'll be up all night now…" she throws a pointed glance at their coffee mugs, "… what did you want to do?"

A grin starts small, then spreads over Marley's face like wildfire.

* * *

The other part of her homework, the one she shares with Finn, is LA-centered. Marley lets him take her out on a friend-date that consists of tickets to one of the Lakers' home games, and dinner at one of his favorite bars, Nelson's. And really, with date ideas like that, it's no wonder he had no luck dating girls like Santana or Quinn or even Rachel.

(Though, to be fair, Rachel's that kind of girl who adapts herself to whoever she's dating.)

Brittany, though. Brittany loves the colourful basketball uniforms and the mascots and the excitement of cheering when somebody shoots a slam dunk or something (on both sides; she's unbiased that way). Even though it's a friend-date, Marley gets the sneaking suspicion that Finn's taken Brittany on quite a few romantic dates with a similar itinerary – but with very different results.

"Finn?"

"Aw, yeah!" It takes a while for him to realise that she's talking to him, and he peels his eyes away from the court. "Uh, sorry. What?"

"You promised me you'd explain the rules," she says, trying very hard not to laugh. "All I know is that our guys – " she points at the half of the court occupied by men in purple and yellow jerseys, "– are trying to shoot more baskets than the other guys." She points at the group in navy and white. "Who are we playing again?"

"The Nuggets," says Finn distractedly.

"The Chicken McNuggets?"

"Huh?"

Marley laughs at his expression. "I was kidding."

"That wasn't funny," he huffs, and playfully elbows her. "We're playing the Denver Nuggets – they haven't been in the championships in decades, the Lakers shouldn't be crapping around like this; we got _LeBron_ , for God's sake."

Clearly he's expecting her to understand everything he's just said. Marley nods slowly. "Okay…" She covertly Googles everything on her phone.

"But yeah, of course there's a lot more to it than just that," he says. "Like, the strategy, and there're different kinds of shots they can make; not to mention the player stats – " He cuts himself off as the court erupts in a roar; one of the purple-and-yellow men has just scored. "Awright!"

Marley shrugs. She doesn't have to know basketball to be able to watch it, and at least she knows which team she's supposed to be rooting for… so she takes another sip of her drink and watches as the orange ball bounces back and forth between the players.

* * *

Even if their team lost, Finn still buys her a hat in bright yellow and purple "for next time", with the Lakers' logo on the front. He already has his own purple-and-yellow jersey over his shirt.

Finn perks up considerably when they arrive at Nelson's. He buys the first round of beers, and bacon cheeseburger sliders for them to share. "I usually come here after Lakers games," he explains, somewhat sheepishly, after the third waitress in a row comes over to greet Finn by name. "I like the cheeseburger sliders, 'cause the cheese reminds me of the Lakers colours."

"Creature of habit," remarks Marley with a smile. "You can take the boy out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the boy."

Finn actually laughs at that. "Sounds about right," he says, and taps his beer bottle to the neck of Marley's. "Britt loves that Nelson's serves themed food during game season and they make the effort to make her sliders look like little footballs."

"I think it's great you two have so many things in common," says Marley.

He gets this smitten look. "I know, right? Best impulse bus ride _ever_."

* * *

 _Watched my local basketball team lose_ , she reports to Doctor C. _Had a consolation beer in a sports bar while wearing my team hat._ Just for the hell of it, Marley attaches a photo one of Finn's friends in the bar took, of her and Finn with their Lakers gear and their cheesy grins.

* * *

Quinn calls, sounding less than thrilled about the news she bears. "I got another promotion."

"Quinn, that's amazing. That's like – didn't you get promoted a couple months ago?"

"I did," she replies tonelessly, "bumped up from full editor to a senior editor."

"Wow. That sounds fantastic, but… why do you sound so unexcited?"

"I got the promotion because I tried to hand in my resignation." Quinn sighs; it comes through as a low rush of static. "My bosses really, _really_ don't want me to leave."

"That's…" Marley can sort of understand; Quinn's meticulous, hard-working, and brilliant. "I can understand why. Any employer would be crazy to let you go just like that."

"I know. Maybe I should threaten to leave until they make me the CEO or something," jokes Quinn. "But the thing is, the promotion comes with a whole lot of added responsibilities."

"Oh."

"I need to come in on Saturdays now. I have way less manuscripts to look over, but now my job is focused on making sure the other editors look over their manuscripts, _and_ I have the proofreaders to oversee." She sounds harried.

"Are you okay with that?"

"I guess. I love my job. Not so much dealing with people doing my job."

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

She's said the wrong thing. There's a distinct hardness to Quinn's voice as she says: "I can't _leave_ , Marley. Not now, at any rate: they've made that abundantly clear."

"You can, if you tried hard enough. They're not your jailers; if you really wanted to leave, they can't hold you there against your will."

"I don't…" Quinn exhales. "The publishing business is small enough that I'll be burning bridges here if I quit without good reason. The money's good, and I still have a bit of student loans from Columbia left to pay off."

"So… you're staying."

"Marley."

"No, I get it. Work's important; that's why I moved out here in the first place."

"... Yeah."

"I just thought that… you were actually thinking about coming out here. Dumb, right, that I was already making plans for when you moved."

"Marley," pleads Quinn, "don't do this."

She forces a laugh, glad that Quinn can't see her face right now. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying that I thought wrong."

Quinn draws an audible breath, then says: "I don't think now's a good time to be talking about this. Maybe I should call you back when we've both calmed down."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll… I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"I love you." Quinn probably tried for reassuring, along the lines of _everything is gonna be alright, we've survived worse_ , but it comes off with more than a hint of desperation. Marley should probably respond soon. Quinn's too proud to ask questions like _are we_ okay or even _are you mad at me_ , and she's probably freaking out silently.

"I… I love you too." It feels empty. Marley's stomach clenches as the call ends, and all that's left in her ear is the dial tone.

* * *

Marley lies in bed, listless. She has the niggling feeling that she's making much ado about nothing ( _et tu, Shakespeare_?) but also –

Quinn isn't coming, is she?

She isn't going, is she?

Which means that either they stay here in this comfortable nest of Skype dates and cross-country flights and longing phone calls or –

She refuses to give thought to the alternative; unacknowledged, it vanishes.

In this frame of mind, she gets out her phone and Googles nearby pet stores.

* * *

She loves animals. Her mom used to joke that they'd wanted a puppy and got her by mistake, which is why she shares a name with this famous Labrador from a book. It wasn't true, of course, but it didn't stop her from having a few nightmares about being traded in at the Lima animal rescue for a puppy.

While she's not really a cat person (even before meeting Lord Tubbington), and hasn't the time or energy (or permanence) for dogs, Marley thinks a rabbit or turtle or even a fish might be good. Liven up the space, give her something to look forward to coming home to. Simple to look after around her schedule. Not demanding of more time than she can spare.

Suddenly, she misses Valentino. Marley texts Gavin to ask for an update on the sulky Arowana.

But in the meantime, she's in the car and off down the street. Approximately twenty-five minutes later, she's standing in a shiny national chain outlet that's fairly large, and the sounds of animals fill her ears from all around.

Marley gets distracted by barking. The store has quite a few puppies for sale, and the cause of the riot appears to be feeding time. She laughs as a tiny daschund trips over his own paws in his excitement to get to his feeding dish.

A pet is a huge commitment. Not just in terms of upkeep for the animal's lifespan, but also towards LA. Nothing says _settling down for the long-term_ more clearly than a pet.

Gavin responds with a photo of Valentino, looking unimpressed as always, captioned with an unhealthy amount of exclamation marks. He also attaches a photo of a terrapin which he explains is named Chrétien de Troyes, and is Valentino's new buddy.

… Apparently, he's been sleeping with an Arthurian scholar on exchange from the UK.

 **Wtf** , types Marley, **y do the ppl u sleep w/ keep buying u animals**

 _idk lmfao_

She sighs and pockets her phone. Marley's here because she wants to purchase a small pet. If she was going to get a dog, she was in the wrong place, because she'd always been quite adamant on adoption.

Marley really shouldn't be doing this. But she is. She pulls her phone out again.

"Unique, babe," she greets her friend when the call connects.

She can't see it, but Marley is quite certain Unique has on this penetrating scowl she gets when she's suspicious. "What have you done this time, Marley Labrador Rose?"

Marley yelps in indignation. "Unique!"

"Sorry, I heard barking in the background and couldn't resist," cackles her best friend. "I do know that's not actually your middle name as your mom insisted it was…"

"How cruel," mutters Marley, "I call to ask for your advice, and what do I get? Insults. _Et tu, brute_?"

"Alright, alright! I most humbly apologize." Unique clears her throat. "So. You need advice?"

"Yes. I, uh, do you see me as being a fish person, or a hamster person?"

"... What? This better not be some freaky kink shit…"

"No! I meant literally! I'm standing in a Petmart or whatever, and I need advice on what pet I should get."

"Girl, you should have just started with that," says Unique, a touch peevishly. "So, literally a pet. Like an animal you keep alive for fun."

"Yeah."

"Not a dog? You always struck me as more of a dog person."

Marley sighs. "Not a dog, no."

Thankfully, Unique doesn't press. "Right. Okay. So… what fishes do they have? I remember you were really fond of that grumpy fish your housemate had… you even had an Insta for him."

"Valentino the arowana, yeah."

" _Right_ ," she says, and Marley can hear the judgement in her voice. "I'm thinking something exotic. You're not really a goldfish kinda gal."

Marley laughs. "Not a goldfish kinda gal? Really?"

"Well, yeah. Look – just send me photos of your top three, alright? I don't know what you got to choose from."

"Okay. I don't think I'm getting anything today, honestly… having a pet is a really big decision." She's already heading over to the aquatic section. "I'm only here on impulse."

Marley doesn't elaborate, and Unique doesn't ask her to. Her best friend just says, "Just lemme see what you shortlist. Later, babe," and hangs up.

* * *

Hours later, she has more than twenty photos of animals, and is struggling to narrow it down to a top ten list, and from which she'll pick her top three to send to Unique when –

– her phone screen changes.

Quinn's calling. Marley regrets setting a photo contact picture, because those eyes are crumbling her resolve.

Averting her gaze helps, as does switching off her ringer. But barely a minute after the call rings out, Quinn calls again.

Marley's far from ready to talk to Quinn. But she has to.

"Marley?"

She can't speak. A lump's formed, hard and heavy, in her throat.

"Marley, I know you're there. I guess… you don't really want to hear from me right now. I wouldn't either, if the roles were reversed." A soft sound, like Quinn's clearing her throat. "But that's exactly why I'm calling. I'm trying very hard to be that person you need me to be."

Marley's eyes flutter shut.

"You're right. What I said, earlier… that wasn't fair to you. Especially after everything I told you before." Quinn's voice falters. "It wasn't fair of me to get your hopes up, and then let them down like that."

Her eyes open. "No," croaks Marley.

"What?"

"I said no." She swallows hard. "I wasn't being fair to you, either. You never said anything definite, we were only making theoretical plans, and god – I was having all these _fantasies_ as though what we talked about was real. I had no right to be disappointed."

"No, you… Marley, this isn't your fault."

"Yes, it is. Things have changed, now, and it wasn't fair of me to expect everything we talked about not to change. You can't put me over your job." She hesitates, then adds in a softer voice: " _I_ didn't."

"No. There's a difference," answers Quinn. "You made it very clear that I was important to you, that you actually considered putting me over your job. I felt valued. But I… I didn't do the same. I made it sound like my job was more important than you. I made you feel like I loved you less than my work – which I never, _ever_ , should have done. I'm sorry, Marley."

She takes a deep, steadying breath. "And I forgive you. But… this doesn't change anything, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I bought a plant," says Marley. "I named it Peter Parker. I've been buying chairs and couches and dish towels. I'm gonna buy a pet, once I decide whether a fish or a guinea pig fits best into my work schedule." She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I don't understand."

"I'm not going back to New York." A tear escapes her eye, despite her best efforts. "And from the sound of it, you won't be leaving anytime soon. And I… I don't blame you for that."

There's a long silence, and when Quinn finally speaks, her voice is hard and terrible. "I hope you aren't saying what I think you're saying."

"Everything's been hard since I left," says Marley.

"We both knew it would be hard. Hell, we both agreed we'd do this no matter how hard it got."

"Yes, but look at the fights we've had since then. Your mom, then Puck, and Shelby – "

"You can't blame me for those things happening," hisses Quinn.

"I can't. Believe me, I wish I could blame something or someone because then, at least, I could get mad. I could feel resentful or upset, and I could get over it eventually." She rubs her face. "It's not your fault, or mine, or anyone's… Quinn, you told me that you couldn't live with yourself if I gave up my dream and grew to regret it. I feel the same way."

"... Is this an ultimatum?"

Marley gasps softly. "Quinn, I would never do that to you."

"That's exactly what it feels like."

She struggles to breathe. "I'm sorry," whispers Marley.

"What are you apologizing for?" Quinn, too, sounds on the verge of tears.

"For breaking your heart."

The silence that follows is so profound, Marley thinks the line may have been cut. Certainly, there's no other sound in the universe apart from the beating of her own heart.

"... Marley?"

"Still here," she says.

"Can I tell you something?"

"You can tell me anything, Quinn."

"When you thought about coming back to New York, I… I wanted you to. I was so sure you'd made up your mind, that it was only a matter of time."

Marley waits.

"You're so talented, Marley. I talked myself into believing that you'd come back, you'd get yourself a job far more amazing than this. The risk would pay off, it would be worth it. We'd have everything. You told me I was part of your dream."

"You still are."

"Maybe, but at what cost?"

"Quinn, there's nothing wrong with me wanting to be with you," says Marley, heated now. "It costs me nothing."

"Except your job." Quinn's the gentle one now. "I've seen one person rewrite her dreams before. Once is enough."

Sharp anger flares up, unbidden. "I'm not Rachel."

"And that's why it won't take me getting into a near-fatal car accident to change your mind," replies Quinn. "Although that hurt less than _this_."

Another silence.

"Can we not do this right now?" pleads Marley. "I'm glad you called, but… this is different. I don't know what I should be saying or doing to make this right."

"Yeah. I agree."

"I love you," says Marley fiercely. "I wish that would fix everything."

"... I wish that, too."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Send Me The Moon_ by Sara Bareilles.

* * *

 **Further Author's Notes:** I'm sorry for breaking everyone's hearts with this chapter :D


	14. Part Thirteen

**Author's Notes:** So Mike's been promoted from Americanization Specialist to a full-fledged beta reader! His input was invaluable to the final form of this chapter. Again, any more errors and spelling mistakes etc remain my own.

* * *

 **Part Thirteen:** _Who would've thought we would wind up here/ holed up and holding it all so dear_

* * *

She didn't think she would ever stop crying.

But enough of her despair ebbs out together with tears and time, and Marley sits up to reach for the box of tissues on her nightstand. It was lucky that she'd answered her phone while in bed, so she could simply let herself go boneless, wrap herself around a pillow, and sob her heart out.

Marley feels like a liar. _She_ was the one who insisted there'd be no talk of breaking up. Granted, the words hadn't actually been spoken – they'd never come to a definite conclusion – they would talk later, when they'd both calmed down – they still loved each other –

– she isn't giving up.

She lies back down and grabs a pillow, hugging it to her chest, wishing it was someone instead of something. It certainly _feels_ like they're over, and _she'd_ been the one to end it. They'd survived her moving out of state, distance, emotional baggage, and this was what they were left with.

A large part of her wants to cave in. She'd made all those interim plans, half-formed and hazy, for when – _if_ – she moves back to New York. Quinn's words made everything seem simple and attainable; the job, the girl, the life. All part of the same dream, all hers if she went back. Right?

But there's a much smaller part of her that's been sleeping for a while. The part that's slowly been waking up with Doctor C's homework, that swore she'd never mold herself to the other person in her relationship. That part kicks at her and swears she'd rather die than go back to New York with her tail between her legs, because she'll be doing it for the wrong reasons.

Marley can't save Quinn, and she shouldn't. That's not her job. And by that simple logic: Marley shouldn't be the one saving their relationship, either.

She knows that.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Judging from the stillness outside she can see through her window, it's late. Marley doesn't feel like checking her phone to find out how many hours she's spent in misery, so she curls up and tries to sleep.

* * *

Quinn's crying.

Marley's first instinct is to go comfort her, except – she has no arms? Marley glances down, mildly perturbed to find she has no legs, either.

Then it's not Quinn anymore. Valentino, face scrunched into a deep scowl as always, starts lecturing her on her inability to maintain a successful relationship. Which is absurd, because he's just a fish, and anyway she's too busy looking after her weed farm. Gordon Ramsay will yell at her if she doesn't grow the weed just right, thus spoiling the secret ingredient in his award-winning potstickers.

Then Valentino starts singing. Marley blinks, and realizes her limbs are intact, she has nothing to fear from Gordon Ramsay, and her phone is ringing next to her ear.

She answers the phone with a croaked _Hello_.

"Babe," comes Unique's mildly-panicked voice, "are you okay? I was waiting and waiting for your text, but I never got it… and I was thinking, _no way Marley Rose flakes out on me, something must've happened_ , and yeah. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Marley sniffles and attempts to respond, but her words choke in her throat. "Quinn and I…" she manages, before a sob cuts her off.

"Quinn and you _what_?" repeats Unique, now sounding borderline hysterical. "You're scaring me, Marl. What's happened to you guys? Did you break up?"

"I don't know," she admits. "We had a fight, and nothing got resolved, but I… I just don't _know_ , 'Nique."

Unique swears. "Are you at home?"

"Yeah. You don't – I know why you asked, and no. I don't want you coming here, it's too far out."

"You can barely talk," points out her best friend. "The last time you were in crisis mode was… never. This is bad."

"'Nique."

"I'm invoking my best friend card." And she hangs up before Marley can get in another word.

She lets the phone drop to the mattress, and rubs her face with the palm of her hand. If Marley was the drinking sort, now would be a good time for her to knock back as much hard liquor as she can get her hands on.

But she doesn't let herself wallow for too long. It's a weekday morning; she has to water Peter. She has a job she needs to go to. And if she knows Unique as well as she does, she'll have an impromptu house guest for the next couple of days, along with plenty of junk food and guilty pleasure movies.

She pulls herself back upright, legs crossed Indian-style. Her breathing exercises calm her – it's been a while since she's needed to use them – and she swings her legs out over the edge of the bed, hesitating for a moment. "Get a grip, Rose," she says aloud, "you've faced worse mornings than this." Doctor C would have plenty to say about her brand of self-motivation, but it'll do for now.

Marley goes through the motions of her morning routine, apart from a brief disruption when she goes to the kitchen. Marley _really_ doesn't feel up to eating, but she knows she has to. It shouldn't be a struggle – it shouldn't even be part of whatever she's feeling, but… her stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought of breakfast.

As she's pondering what to do, Marley's eye falls to the worn tin sitting beside the sink, and her heart lifts. Her mom's special peppermint tea blend; the perfect compromise. The scent is comforting, and hopefully her stomach'll calm down afterwards. She sets the kettle boiling and scoops out the fragrant tea blend into an infuser.

By the time the water boils, her mood has improved considerably. Marley takes it to the kitchen table and sits down, clasping the hot mug between her hands, the aroma of peppermint and other secret ingredients slowly filling the kitchen.

Her conversation with Quinn replays on loop in her mind. Marley envisions it as an audio track, and examines it critically; here she pauses, contemplating the words, the dissonance. She really wishes that they hadn't had that conversation over the phone; she only has Quinn's voice and words to derive meaning from, and her girlfriend admittedly isn't the best at expressing herself verbally.

She was so foolish, to think that moving back to New York would magically solve everything. Worse still, she'd gotten angry at the mention of Rachel's name; it seemed her old irrational fears hadn't faded as she'd believed they had. Marley's aware that she shouldn't be pursuing this self-destructive train of thought. She drinks more tea, eager to embark on healthier activities.

Her doorbell rings. Marley frowns; there's no way Unique could have gotten here from New York so fast.

Unless –

Marley's heart skips a beat. She gets up suddenly, almost knocking over her chair; tea sloshes onto the table. And she walks into the hall, fingers trembling as she works the deadbolt, and opening the door –

"Good morning, miss," says the man, clad in the black-and-purple of FedEx. "Are you Marley Rose?"

She stares, blinking in complete confusion, before her brain kicks in. "Oh – yeah, that's me."

"I have a parcel for you. Sign here, please?" He holds out an electronic terminal and stylus, and Marley scrawls her name. "Here you go. Have a good day."

The box is heavy for its size. She adjusts her grip on it so she can mechanically shut the door one-handed on the deliveryman's retreating back. There are tears gathering in her eyes for no reason at all; she doesn't understand _why_.

Safe behind the closed door, her knees give way. Marley slides to the ground, back pressed against the door, and drops her face into her hands; the package tumbles out of her grip and rolls away, forgotten. She'd spent so long getting her composure back, and now – she's crying. Marley doesn't understand what's wrong with her, what could she have _possibly_ been expecting.

Marley's not in any condition to be heading to work. Not if she's going to become an emotional mess at the drop of a hat. She left her phone in her room; she should probably call in sick. The guys won't miss her, they'll be too busy bickering over chord progressions to even notice her absence.

When the doorbell rings again, it startles her enough to cut off a sob, but she doesn't move otherwise. Perhaps the person will go away if they think no one's home.

The doorbell rings again. The shrill noise starts to grate on her nerves. Marley clambers to her feet, scrubbing her face dry with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She opens the door again.

Quinn stands on the other side, this time. There are dark circles around her eyes, her usually-impeccable clothing is visibly rumpled, and her face is puffy from crying. Marley opens her mouth – and closes it, when she realizes she doesn't know what to say.

Apparently Quinn doesn't take her reaction well, because a look of panic crosses Quinn's face, but – surprisingly – she stands her ground. "I'm sorry to show up like this, but I thought we needed to talk after… last night."

"You flew all the way here just to talk?"

"Yeah."

Marley darts forward, to wrap her arms around Quinn's middle and press herself against Quinn. Relief floods her body when Quinn doesn't push her away. "I'm so glad you're here… I thought I'd lost you." Hugging Quinn always feels like coming home. It's something she starts to see she's taken for granted.

Quinn's voice trembles when she says: "I wouldn't be anywhere else." She squeezes back briefly, but it's not long before she's gently prying herself out of Marley's arms.

She lets go, reluctantly. "What about work?"

Her eyes flash with an echo of the Head Cheerio. "Fuck work," she exclaims hotly. "It's not as important to me as you are. I can't believe I ever let you feel that way."

"You got on a plane immediately after we talked because you were afraid that I thought that your work was more important than I am?"

Quinn attempts a casual shrug, shaking her head. "I told you. I'm not good with words. I was worried that everything I meant to say wasn't getting across. And sometimes, actions speak louder than words." Her hand trembles as it reaches out to Marley; Marley releases the breath she's been holding steadily as Quinn's fingers brush her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said those things – " She's cut off by a gentle thumb on her lips.

"You didn't do anything wrong. _I_ shouldn't have said what I did, about selfishly wanting you back in New York."

"We should talk inside," says Marley. She steps back so Quinn can come in, and she shuts the door behind them. Her peppermint tea sits on the table. "I'll make you some tea," she says. "It's been a long day...couple of days, for both of us." She fetches a tea towel and mops up the spilled tea as she goes.

Quinn nods. She stands, awkward in the middle of Marley's living room. "... I like the couch."

"Huh? Oh." Marley turns away from the kettle. "I found it at a rummage sale."

"You can't tell. It looks new."

She makes another mug of tea, carrying the mugs over to the couch, setting them on the coffee table. Marley finds herself a place beside Quinn, who has her hands clasped tightly in her lap; Marley fights down the urge to hold them.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Quinn starts by saying. She trains her gaze on the steaming mug. "About everything – not just what we talked about last night."

Her heart starts pounding wildly in her chest. Marley reaches for her mug with trembling hands, just so she'll have something to focus on.

"It was – I shouldn't have run my mouth like that." Quinn sucks her lips inward. "There really isn't any excuse for what I said. It wasn't necessary, and I hurt you."

Marley shakes her head. "No. We were supposed to have talked about this, long ago."

Quinn smiles bitterly, and then it's gone. "We were."

"Even now, when we both know how important it is… I still wish we could put this off." She thinks back to the happier memories of when they were together. "I'm sorry I didn't push harder."

"Marley, you need to stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault."

"And _you_ need to stop making everything your fault," she retorts without thinking.

A guarded silence follows after Marley's words. "I…" she stutters.

"No, I probably deserved that," says Quinn. Her smile is cold and fleeting. "We've been running from the truth for far too long. Do you realize," she adds abruptly, "we've hardly spent any time together?"

"Huh?"

"As a couple," she clarifies. "We've been friends for years, but we were acquaintances for most of that time. Seeing each other over summers in Lima."

"You came to New York for grad school while I was there for college."

"New York is a big city, and we still weren't spending that much time together. You had Alex, and then just after you graduated, you went to LA." Quinn looks sad. "We never really had much of a relationship in the first place, even when we were just friends."

That sets Marley off; she barely retains the presence of mind to put her mug back on the table before she surges forward. "Look me in the eye," she commands, "and tell me you don't feel something between us. Something worth fighting for." Marley softens on seeing the helplessness in Quinn's expression. "Quinn, you are everything I've ever wanted, before I knew what it was like to want."

"You've been that for me, too. But… I'm starting to wonder. Have we been in love with each other? Or with the idea of who we should be? For all our years of knowing each other, how much of _me_ do you know? How much has been you filling in the gaps in my absence?"

Marley gasps softly. She isn't sure where all of this has come from. "I…"

"We barely started our relationship before you left." Quinn looks away, abashed yet adamant. "What we had was a solid _friendship_. It's wonderful, enduring, a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but ultimately a friendship. And based on that, we agreed on this long-distance _relationship_."

"What's wrong with that? I didn't want to lose you; everything we'd become, and could be."

"We barely had time to rediscover ourselves as more than friends, Marley. How was _that_ strong enough to survive long distance? When most regular couples don't? How were we supposed to fall into a comfortable existence together when we weren't even sure of what our _normal_ was?" She withdraws her hands from Marley; the small gesture stings.

She fights to maintain her composure. "I'm going to say something, and you're not going to say anything until I'm done. Okay?"

Quinn turns her head to stare at her. "Something tells me I'm not going to like this."

"That's why I need you not to say anything first, just… hear me out, please." Marley stares back, eyes wide and pleading.

After a long moment, Quinn sighs and nods. "Okay."

"I think… you're right. I picked the worst possible time for me to leave. That we had no time to get used to being in this relationship before I left. And we had to learn to be in this relationship with each other, and do that while being long distance." She chews on her lower lip pensively. "I made this way harder than it used to be."

"... Are you done?"

Marley shakes her head. "And I think – it was already showing. When I blew up at you, accused you of pushing me away. When you thought I'd be moving back, and I got upset over that. And just now, even. There were all the warning signs there that we weren't in a good place." A tear slides down her cheek.

Quinn glares fiercely. "Can I talk now?"

Marley nods and sniffles. A soft sound escapes her mouth when Quinn joins their hands again, starts rubbing her thumbs over the back of her hands. "Hey," murmurs Quinn, "don't cry. I meant what I said; it's not your fault, and I don't blame you for any of this."

She nods, too choked up to speak.

"I looked up that Japanese term you mentioned."

"Oh?" says Marley, surprised by the abrupt change of topic.

"Yeah. It's – very apt. And beautiful."

Marley smiles. "I'm glad you think so."

"But…"

"But?"

"I'm not your _kintsugi_." Quinn shakes her head. "I'm just the broken bowl, like you said. You can't unbreak it, and you can't make it better."

"You're wrong," says Marley gently, in contrast to the firm words. "The bowl has been broken before, yes. It bears the scars of past trauma. But it's still a bowl, a functional bowl, that's even more beautiful for having been broken. There are so many terrible things that have happened to you, that you blame yourself for. That's not on you, Quinn." A laugh slips out of her as she realizes something, belatedly: "Antifragile."

"What?"

Marley shakes her head. "The opposite of something vulnerable, and easy to break… it kinda makes sense, in a twisted and tragic way, that you've always been trying to finish reading that book. To learn how to become something beyond breaking, rather than something mended."

"The broken bowl means that it's no longer a bowl, that it can no longer serve its purpose. But you're not broken. Can't you see that, Quinn? You think you've lost so many things, but you haven't. You're working on repairing your relationship with your mom. Shelby tried to stop you from getting to know Beth, but Puck helped unknowingly. There's no reason for you to act like you're broken. I think… the only way that you're broken is that you persist in believing you're broken."

"I don't…" Quinn sets her mouth in a thin line and doesn't complete her sentence.

"So it's not just _us_." Marley knows there's no turning back once the words leave her mouth. "Everything that's happened, it's not solely because we didn't know how to be more than friends." She draws a ragged breath. "You need help. And I can't be the one to give it. I can't be the one who saves you from yourself; that's not what I'm meant to be to you. I'm your partner and your lover; not your saviour, or your emotional punching bag."

Quinn flinches. "I never asked you to save me."

"That's true. That's my fault. I can't bear to see you hurting, and I took it upon myself to save you. That was foolish hubris on my part, but, Quinn – that doesn't mean I don't love you. That I'm not in love with you. Do you understand?"

"No, I really don't." Quinn's expression is frosty. "So, you pity me?"

"The last thing you need is pity. You need someone who will be patient with you as you grow, but – that can't be me. I'm no saint; far from it. And, you need to save yourself before anyone can save you."

"It's certainly taken a long time for us to reach this _inevitable_ conclusion." Hurt laces every word. Quinn's defense mechanisms have kicked in, and Marley desperately tries to hold on.

"I tried, Quinn," says Marley. Her voice cracks on Quinn's name. "This isn't easy for me, either. I learned the hard way I can't save you, that I can only be there with you every step of the way. Which I will, because I love you."

"Different from me trying every day of my life to understand that fact?" Quinn looks upset. "This is the most serious I've been about a relationship. _You_ are the only person I've ever felt this much for. The only one I would fight for. And you… do you know how it felt, when we'd argue, and I had to tell you _I'm trying_ , over and over again? Because I didn't know what else I can tell you but that."

She shakes her head. "This is… I don't know what to do, Quinn. I know you're trying; I see it in everything you do. It's the reason you're here with me now." Marley pauses, voice catching on the words. "But you're not trying to save yourself, and it's killing you." Marley's voice drops to a whisper. "And watching you suffer kills me too."

Quinn's facial expression stiffens. It's the look she gets when she's about to crumple, but her pride won't let her give in to her emotions. "I never wanted to be like this."

"I know."

"So? What you're saying is, we call it quits." She sighs. "Right? You set me free, all those things."

"Please don't be mad," says Marley. It's the wrong thing to say, she realizes belatedly, when Quinn's gaze darkens.

"Mad? How can I be mad? You've just broken up with me in what's probably the most gentle and considerate way anyone has ever done." Quinn closes her eyes; when she next opens them, they're glassy with unshed tears. "Better than being dumped at a funeral, or just after telling someone you love them, I suppose. It's nice to know you care enough for that."

She won't let Quinn's anger get to her. She can't. Quinn doesn't even mean it, she just lashes out when she's in pain. Marley steels herself, and says: "I'm sorry you've been hurt before. I wish I could give you better. Quinn, you deserve everything good in the world."

"But you've decided that doesn't include you," says Quinn softly. Her lips part as a ragged breath escapes them, a sure sign she's doing her best not to cry openly.

Marley opens her mouth, then closes it. Whatever she can say now won't do them justice, won't erase everything that's passed between them. She watches Quinn's expression harden as she withdraws into herself, mask sliding into place. Bit by bit, the raw emotion fades from her eyes until Marley finds herself looking at Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray, Kitty's idol.

Quinn stands up. "I should go."

"I'll drive you to the airport."

"No, you need time away from me."

Quinn's cold rejection stings. "I'm sorry," says Marley helplessly.

"Don't be. I… I've been preparing for this day for some time."

The confession stuns Marley. "What?"

Up until this point, Quinn has kept her back resolutely turned towards Marley. But she turns her head at the question. "Everything I've cared for leaves me in the end, Marley. I've wanted to believe that you were different, that you would be the exception, but…" She exhales.

"You don't get to turn this on yourself," snaps Marley. "It's not your fault – "

"– then whose fault is it?" Quinn ripostes, quick as lightning and twice as devastating. "You yourself said that you wished you could blame something or someone because then you could get over it eventually. So," she says, "it's not your fault, nor mine, nor anyone's. But the person I am has always been there, and that's just something I have to deal with. Alone, now."

Marley just stood there, speechless, for the duration of Quinn's outburst. She continues to watch numbly as Quinn adjusts her bag on her shoulder and slips out the front door.

"Wait."

She does, head bowed.

"I didn't ask you to come all the way out here, but you _did_. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Quinn hesitates. "Not anymore," she says, and leaves.

* * *

Things take a while for Marley to process. First Quinn is there, and then she isn't; leaving without so much as a backward glance.

Marley dashes outside in time to see her disappear into a car. Her first instinct is to chase after it, except that would be useless, and it would probably make everything worse – as though it isn't bad enough, as it is.

She crams her knuckle into her mouth to stop herself from crying. The pain helps with that, somewhat. Marley scrunches up her eyes.

Inhale, exhale. Repeat.

Work.

She has – she needs to call in. Her hand gropes at her pocket, coming up empty.

Her phone's still in her bed. She should go get it before they'll miss her, and off she goes. Marley is sure to water Peter on her way there. At the very least, she sounds nasally and congested enough that her boss tells her to take it easy, and come back when she's feeling better.

It's too much, too quickly. Marley leaves her phone to the side and collapses back into her bed.

* * *

That's where Unique finds her, hours later.

"Babe, wake up."

Marley stirs. "... Unique?"

"Duh." The mattress compresses as it takes the weight of another person. "I'm so sorry, Marl."

She remembers, then, everything that's happened. "It's over," she says, voice shaking. "We – "

Unique cuts her off with a gentle 'shh', cradling Marley's head in her hands. "Shh, shh."

Marley lets herself sink into her best friend's comforting warmth. Her fingers grip Unique's shirt.

"'Nique?"

"What is it, baby?"

"Could you…" She tilts her chin up, pulling away so she can point out her phone on her nightstand. "Could you call Rachel?"

"Rachel? Why?"

Marley chews on her lower lip. "She won't call them, and I don't want her to be alone."

Unique sighs. "Of course." She kisses the side of Marley's head, then releases her to retrieve the phone. "Babe, could you unlock this for me, please?"

She does, pressing her thumb to the fingerprint sensor. Marley does her best not to look at the photo of Quinn she has as her lockscreen picture. "Here."

"Thanks." Unique goes outside to make the call, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

She's thirsty. Marley scoots over to the side for the bottle of water she usually keeps there, unscrewing the cap and taking small sips. The water goes down into an empty stomach, which gurgles. She winces. Unique won't be happy when she inevitably asks Marley when was the last time she'd eaten.

Marley takes some time to decide if she should go outside. It feels like she's intruding, somehow; but she really, desperately, does want to know if they'll convince Quinn to let them in.

Unique solves her conundrum for her by poking her head in and going, "Marley, babe, Rachel and Santana wanna talk to you for a sec." Then she covers the phone with her hand, adding: "You don't have to if you're not up for it; I can just tell them another time."

"No, it's okay." She shuffles closer. Unique mouths _if you insist_ and presses the speaker button.

"Rosie!"

Marley smiles a little. "Hey, Santana."

"Marley, are you alright? Unique told us what happened, and we…" Rachel clears her throat. "Thanks for thinking to call us. She isn't picking up her phone, so we're on the way to the airport now." There's a honk in the background, and a vivid curse.

"Santana's driving?"

"Um, yes."

"You let Santana drive?"

"Hey, we have to bully the airline into sleuthing out Tubbers' flight, and then stalk arrivals to make sure she doesn't pull a Carmen Sandiego. We gots to get there in one piece, so no way I'm letting Strawberry Shortcake drive."

"Charming," mutters Rachel. "Why do I even love you?"

"Says more about you than me. Eh, Rach? Hey, Unisex, you there?" The last sentence is louder, and clearly directed at Unique.

"Of course, Bad Santa," says Unique, rolling her eyes.

"Oooh, bitchy. I like. Anyway, you know what you gots to do."

"Yeah, yeah. Seriously, Lopez, it will _not_ kill you to admit you have a heart."

"We'll talk to you later," interrupts Rachel. "Bye, Unique, Marley."

Unique goes over to the wall socket and plugs the phone in. "Now," she says, turning to Marley with her hands on her hips, "I'm not gonna bother asking if you've eaten. Kitchen, now."

Marley sighs. She trudges off obligingly. There is a wealth of bags and takeout containers and other assorted things filling up her dining table, and Marley barely has any time to process all of this before Unique's clearing a space on the table. "Sit," she commands, pulling out the chair in front of it.

She feels like she's a kid again. Marley sits obediently, watching as Unique uncovers a takeout container of something that smells warm and hearty, setting it in front of her.

"What is it?"

"Chicken noodle soup." Unique continues to produce an assortment of food from the bags. "I want you to finish all of it."

Marley stirs her soup with her spoon. She finds it amusing that Unique's bought her favorite comfort food for when she was upset or needed a general pick-me-up when she was a child. Granted, her mother's homemade soup is much better than this, but she'll take what she can get.

Unique sits down with her own bowl of soup. "Eat," she says, pointing her spoon at Marley.

"Yes, Mom." Marley eats a spoonful grumpily. Unique doesn't look away until she's eaten a few more, and then it's only to retrieve a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter from a bag.

The chicken soup warms her insides. It makes her realize how hungry she is, and that one bowl won't be enough.

"You don't know how glad I am you didn't even try to pretend you weren't hungry," says Unique. She stands up to throw Marley's empty bowl into the trash.

Marley shrugs. She reaches for the loaf of bread, accepting the knife proffered in her direction with a faint smile and a nod. "You'd kick my butt, crisis or no crisis."

"Damn right."

Her knife scrapes across the bread. She crams a peanut butter sandwich, and another, into her mouth. "I'm full."

Unique stares at her in silence for a few seconds, before nodding. "'Kay. Ice cream and movies?"

"Can I say no?"

"Hahaha, nope." Unique stands up again and bends forward to kiss the side of Marley's head; it elicits a small smile from Marley. "But it was cute that you thought you could try. Here, I left the DVDs in front of the TV. Go pick out one, and I'll join you in a minute."

There is a stack of DVDs waiting for her on the coffee table. Marley is thankful they don't include _She's the Man_ because she's still very much an emotional wreck – and a tear time bomb, to boot, because the mere memory causes her eyes to prick.

Less than a year, and everything in her life brings her back to Quinn. Marley knows she's in for a long and difficult journey.

She selects _Mean Girls_ and slots it into her DVD player, just as Unique reappears with two pints of Ben and Jerry's. "Oooh, I love this," she enthuses, handing Marley a tub of ice cream and a spoon. Chocolate chip flavor; the cannon in Unique's predictable yet effective arsenal for dealing with emotional crises. The last time she was here – sitting in front of a television watching teenage dramas with her best friend and eating chocolate chip ice cream – Marley had just fought with Quinn. The memory of her breakup that wasn't a breakup makes her want to laugh at the irony.

"Marl?"

She steels herself, looks up at her friend. "Yeah?"

Unique pulls out _A Cinderella Story_ from the bag at the side of the couch. "I also have this, if you're feeling up to it later," she says, with a soft look that tells Marley she certainly hasn't forgotten.

"I…" Marley swallows, then gives Unique a tremulous smile. "Maybe later."

* * *

Without Rachel's influence, there is no alcohol involved. She's glad for it; it brings back too many memories of questions asked through the emboldening influence of wine, and the pleasant haze of better days. Heartbreak has turned her into a maudlin person.

Halfway through _Zootopia_ , Marley reaches out to pause the movie. "I think I'm ready to talk," she says.

Unique simply puts aside her ice cream tub and turns to Marley.

"How much do you know?"

"The bare basics."

Marley blows out a breath. "Uh, okay. So – Quinn and I, we had a – misunderstanding. She was hoping that I'd move back to New York, and I was hoping she'd move here."

"And did you happen to have any, I don't know, tentative plans of your own to move to New York?"

She colors under Unique's scrutiny. "Yeah."

"Plans which you talked about to everyone except me?"

"Yeah…"

"Because you knew I'd chew you out?"

Marley groans. "Yeah."

"Babe…"

"I know." Marley picks at a loose thread on her sweater. "It was a bad idea, right from the beginning. Quinn kept telling me not to make a decision for the wrong reasons, but she'll never not be a wrong reason, and I… it was stupid, okay?" Her vision promptly blurs.

"Babe, shhh. It's not stupid. _You're_ not stupid." Unique squeezes her knee until she lifts her face, and then Marley closes her eyes as a warm hand wipes away her tears. "No judgement here. I just want to know what happened so I can be here for you."

She breathes in and out for a minute or so before she feels ready to continue. "I… talked to Doctor C. She pretty much said it was a bad idea, and she gave me homework to help me focus on myself. Stuff like making this house feel more like a home, buying a plant, taking dance classes…"

"That explains why I'm not getting that hotel vibe from this place anymore," quips Unique, arching an eyebrow.

Marley laughs in spite of herself. "Yeah, exactly."

"And that's good. So what happened next, baby?"

"She called," whispers Marley. "She got a promotion, but she… she told me, at Christmas, that she was considering moving here because she could get a job anywhere, Unique, and then suddenly she was calling and talking about staying because her bosses didn't want her to leave. They offered her the promotion because she'd tried to hand in her resignation." She dabs at her face with her sweater. "And I got upset."

"Damn right you did. She told you she was coming, and then she goes back on that?"

Marley shakes her head. "It's not her fault," she defends, "we were just talking, and she didn't say was serious about it."

"She handed in her _resignation_ , and you're saying that doesn't sound like she was serious about leaving?"

"I…" She bites her lip, and makes no reply. Put as bluntly as that, Unique has a point; she only hasn't thought about this because she had other, more important things to think about.

Unique seems to sense her internal war, and says, in mollifying tones: "Never mind that. It was just a thought, nothing important. What happened next, baby?"

"We ended the conversation. I was upset, and I decided to get out of the house and browse pet stores – that's when I called you," she says, and Unique nods. "But getting a pet is a huge commitment, it means that I won't be going anywhere for years at the very least, so I… decided to sit on it."

"Okay."

"I was browsing through my photos to pick the ones I wanted to send you when Quinn called." Marley rubs her palms together, then wipes them on the thighs of her pants. "She apologized for what she said earlier. Which should have fixed everything, but it didn't; I told her I wasn't going back. Or, rather, I said… that she wasn't coming here, and I wasn't going back."

Unique hums, waits for her to regain her composure.

"And then I told her I was sorry for breaking her heart."

There's a small intake of breath from Unique. "Marley."

"I know. We agreed that we shouldn't pursue that over the phone, and we hung up. Then she showed up on my doorstep the next morning, and we talked about all of it. Me leaving before we knew how to be more than friends. Her struggling to be the person I want her to be. And me…" Her breathing hitches. "I told her I can't save her."

"Oh, honey."

"We brought up everything that we should have talked about before but didn't. And then she left." Marley's crying at this point; great heaving sobs that make most of her words indecipherable. "She left, 'Nique, because I told her we were done."

Unique shushes her, envelops her into a hug. Marley continues to cry into the front of Unique's shirt.

* * *

She wakes up to the title menu of _A Cinderella Story_ and Unique sprawled over her couch, the both of them tangled up in her throw blanket. Marley doesn't feel up to participating in the real world, but she goes to find her phone anyway.

"Mmmph. What's happening?"

Marley jumps.

Unique, bleary with sleep, sits up. "God. What time is it?"

"Uhh – half past eleven?"

"Too early." Nevertheless, she stands up and disappears, muttering something about a shower.

Marley has a missed call from Rachel, about three hours ago. She presses the button to call her back; her knees give way and she flops back on the couch as she waits for the call to connect.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Rachel. You called?"

"Marley! Hey! Sorry about earlier; I forgot we're ahead by three hours, and you might have still been sleeping."

"It's alright. We didn't sleep until late anyway." She wonders if Rachel will take offense if she skips the pleasantries to ask her burning question.

Luckily, Rachel knows her well enough to say: "Quinn's fine. She's staying with us for the next couple of days; Santana has us taking shifts to sit with her."

Marley breathes a sigh of relief. "Good. That's – that's great. How is she…?"

There's a rustling sound in her ear as Rachel exhales. "Not great, but she'll be okay. How are _you_?"

Marley pauses as she thinks of how best to sum up her condition and emotional state. "A mess," she concludes.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll be fine. I'm worried about Quinn."

"Marley, do me a favor? Take care of yourself first, okay? I know you care about Quinn, but you need to look after yourself; you know she'd be saying the same thing to you."

"... Okay. Rachel, could you tell her something from me?"

"Of course."

"Tell her…" Marley clutches the phone tightly. "Tell her that she's antifragile. I think she'll know what it means."

"I will," says Rachel. "I need to go now; we'll talk later, alright?"

"Of course. Bye, Rachel… and thanks."

She ends the call as Unique emerges from the bathroom, dressed for the day. "Rachel?'

"Yeah." She doesn't feel much like talking this early in the day. Marley climbs off the couch and heads to the kitchen to find herself some busywork.

"Something on your mind, babe – besides the obvious?"

Marley forces a laugh. "No. What makes you say that?"

Unique comes in to lean against the kitchen counter, in what Marley perceives as a judge-y manner; arms folded, expression unimpressed. "You're making coffee."

"So?"

"You don't drink coffee."

She holds up the bag of _Tubbington's Finest_ defensively. "I drink this!"

Unique squints at the bag, and sighs. "You do?"

"It's surprisingly good. And it's Brittany's cat's business."

"... I don't see how that has to do with anything, but fine." She backs off, and lets Marley pour the ground coffee into the machine. "Make me some while you're at it, thanks. I would like to see how taking up that cat coffee habit has improved your non-existent coffee-making skills."

The silence persists until they each have a mug of steaming coffee. Marley wrinkles her nose as Unique adds just a little cream and sugar to hers; in return, her friend makes an exaggerated face as Marley puts copious amounts of milk in hers. "You're lucky I love you for your other qualities, and not just your sense of taste," laughs Unique.

Instead of feeling like a compliment though, the offhand comment causes a small frown to appear on Marley's face. Unique has been her best friend for years, and yet Marley hasn't treated her as such recently; she'd talked to Santana about moving to New York, and Rachel about songwriting. Even if Quinn and her mom were exempt, she'd talked about Quinn with Finn _and_ Brittany. And at the very beginning, it had been Quinn to coax her into taking the first step towards fighting her purging.

Marley runs her spoon through her coffee, watching the color lighten to a beige shade, as she searches for the right words to phrase what she's thinking. "'Nique…? Do you hate me?"

"Hate you?" her friend echoes. "Nope. I can't speak for what you're doing to that poor coffee, though."

She sighs. "No, as in… you're my best friend."

"That's never been in question. Unless you're thinking of replacing me…?"

"Yeah, that's… you're my best friend, but I haven't been treating you like one. I talked to Santana and Rachel and Brittany and even _Finn_ about everything, lately – but not you."

Unique doesn't reply immediately. Just when Marley's about to spontaneously combust from nerves, she says: "Babe, I don't know what to tell you, aside from the fact you're being stupid."

"Stupid, huh?" She'd been expecting worse.

"Yeah. Stupid. I don't quantify what makes a best friend; that's not something I do. Being my best friend means you get all my love, all the time." She spreads her hands. "You wanna talk to me? I drop whatever shit I have to listen. You need me? I fly across the damn country to be there for teen movie marathons and junk food. It's given, not earned."

"Oh."

"Sweetheart. I know you're feeling out of sorts with the things that've happened recently, but I don't think it's healthy to be doubting everybody else around you." She scoots to the other side of the table so she can wrap an arm around Marley's shoulders, giving her a little shake even as she pulls her into a sidelong hug. "So… any more sordid best friend-worthy secrets you've been keeping from me?"

Marley laughs a little through the tears that are already threatening to fall. "God, I'm such a mess," she says, wiping her cheeks.

"Mmhmm. I don't judge, though."

She swats at Unique before giving in, and pressing her cheek to her friend's shoulder instead. "I met this girl."

"Uh huh."

"We got together."

"Awesome."

"Then I broke up with the girl of my dreams because I'm a mess, so is she, and we were such a beautiful mess together."

"Sounds rough."

"Wait 'til you see the getting over part." Marley glances up at Unique. "Could we go back to the teen movie marathon part now?" she asks softly.

Unique chuckles. She bumps their heads together softly. "Breakfast first, then trashy movies and snacks."

Marley sighs.

* * *

Rachel video calls Marley later that night.

"Hey," says Marley. "Not that I don't appreciate the call, but isn't it kinda late for you guys?"

She sees Rachel shrug. Part of Santana's face is visible in the frame, cuddled up at Rachel's side. "We're fine. We don't have work in the morning."

"In case you were wondering, Tubbers is currently dead to the world," supplies Santana. "Berry here got her wasted on wine."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Shut up." To Marley, she says: "She's fine. She's just tired."

"Okay."

"We didn't call to report on Cueball, though; we are neutral like Switzerland. Seriously, Rosie: as much as we don't hate you and we'd like to ensure you blast through the getting-over phase good and hard… we're kinda contractually obligated to take Quinn's side. No hard feelings."

They wait for Rachel to say _Santana_ reproachfully, as she usually does – Marley even saw Santana brace herself for impact – but Rachel simply sighs and says: "As much as I hate to say this… she does have a point."

"I do?"

Marley smiles; more of it at Santana's surprise than in response to Rachel. "No, it's fine; I totally get it. She was your friend first."

"There is no such thing as a friend hierarchy," insists Rachel. "Marley, you've got Unique, and even your mom – and us, of course. Quinn's only got us. She needs us more."

"Even if she insists she doesn't," adds Santana, and Marley's heart gives this little lurch.

"She'll always have me."

"Marley…"

She brushes off Rachel's concern. "I know, it's pathetic and sad and whatever, but I'll always care about her. She's important to me."

"Looks like we're having feelings, so that's my cue to leave." Santana rolls out of the frame.

Rachel ignores her, focusing on Marley. "We know." Rachel's eyes are soft. "Regardless of what everyone may think, and certainly regardless of everything that's happened… I think that she's lucky to have met you."

"... Thanks." Marley finds herself unable to look at the phone.

* * *

Curled up with Unique on the couch reminds her of all the times spent with her mom.

She's not looking forward to breaking the news to Millie, but she's almost due for her weekly call, and her mom will worry if Marley doesn't call.

"Unique?"

"Mmm?"

"Could you – I have to call my mom. I should tell her about me and… Quinn." The pause is small, but still there. She hopes that it'll get better with practice.

"Of course. Do you want me around?"

"I think I'm good. I'm a big girl, I can call Mom on my own," jokes Marley.

"Well, sure. Here, give me your keys and I'll make a grocery run; we're running low on food anyway."

"Don't I – "

" – No."

"You didn't even let me finish," says Marley indignantly.

"No, you don't get a say in groceries until I say so, because right now you'll just be tempted to live off cereal bars." Unique finds her purse and checks if she has enough cash inside. "Anyway, I know all your favorites."

Marley scrunches up her face. "I'm not predictable."

"You are, but I love you anyway." Unique takes the car keys from Marley with a sweet smile. "I won't be long."

She waits until Unique is gone before she grabs her phone, pressing her finger to the sensor so she doesn't see the lockscreen (she's supposed to change it, and her phone wallpaper, but she keeps forgetting). Marley dials her mom's number and waits.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"Hey, Mom."

There's a brief pause, and then Millie asks: "Marley, is somethin' wrong?"

She tries to laugh. She should have known better than to underestimate her mom's – _well_ – mom senses. "I guess so. Mom, Quinn and I… we broke up."

"Oh, baby." Millie's soft voice makes Marley feel years younger. When she was five, after skinning her knees falling off her bike. When she was sixteen and Jake Puckerman had just broken her heart. When she was seventeen and finding it so, so hard to love herself again. "I'm so sorry."

"I thought everything was gonna be okay – we'd done well enough all this time, but I was wrong."

"You're gonna be okay, baby girl. Are you alone? I can be on the next plane out."

"No, Unique's here." She blinks away her tears. "You don't need to come here. I'll come visit soon, as soon as I can get the days off."

"If you say so. You need anythin', you just call, okay? Anythin' at all. If you wanna talk, or want a listenin' ear, sweetheart."

If she closes her eyes and concentrates, Marley can pretend her mom's right in front of her, ready with smile and a warm hug. "I will. Mom?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Could you talk for a bit? Tell me what's been going on with you. You had that county bake-off a couple of days ago, didn't you? I remember you telling me about it last week. How'd it go?" She needs something else to think about, to remind her life goes on.

"Oh, that ol' thing. Remember I was tellin' you about that Cartwright woman an' how she carries on about her blue ribbon apple pies? Well, they were no match for your mom, lemme tell you…"

She curls up, chin on a cushion, her mom's throw blanket around her shoulders. The phone stays at her ear until Unique joins her later; and then Marley puts the call on speaker so they both can listen to Millie's detailed recounting of her baking triumphs.

* * *

Right when they've watched every movie Unique has (including the veritable stash she keeps inside her portable hard drive), Unique stretches, and checks her phone. "I think I should be getting back," she announces.

"Oh." She'd known this day was coming, and was grateful that her friend had taken the entire week to be with her, but… they have real life to get back to, and suddenly it's not enough time.

Unique sighs. "Oh, honey."

"I'm not doing anything," insists Marley. She's aware that her expression is probably miserable, but she's stubborn.

"You aren't," agrees her best friend. "I'm just gonna miss you so much." She reaches for the closest part of Marley's hooded sweatshirt (the hood) and tugs Marley into a massive hug. Marley, on her part, pretends to struggle to get away; it barely lasts a few seconds before she's holding on to Unique tightly.

"Before I go," says Unique's muffled voice, "there's one last thing we gotta do."

* * *

"It's my car," mutters Marley petulantly, "I don't understand why you couldn't just tell me where you wanted to go. I can drive; I'm not _dying_ , for crying out loud."

"It's the twenty-first century, babe. We have GPS, I think I'll manage." The robotic voice from her phone instructs Unique to take Exit 54 towards Olympic Boulevard. "And you'll have plenty chances to drive yourself. You should just enjoy being chauffeured around like the princess you are."

Marley snorts in unladylike fashion, before she goes back to pouting.

Unique throws a cereal bar into her lap. "Eat. It'll occupy you until we get there."

"Stuffing my mouth won't stop me from judging your driving, if that's what you were aiming for."

Unique sighs. "It was worth a try." She takes a few more turns, and finally slows down. "Luckily we're already here."

Marley stares at the large complex they've just pulled into. "'Nique?"

The other woman takes her time parking the car. When she's finally killed the engine, she turns to Marley. "Even before you were gonna send me those photos," she begins, "I was gonna tell you to come here."

"I'm not ready," murmurs Marley.

"I know you're not – replacing anyone or anything. But you need this. I'm not about to insist you walk out of here with a puppy, but I just think you need to go in there and start looking for someone."

She takes a deep breath. "Alright. I'm ready."

Barking is clearly audible, even from the parking lot. Marley trails behind Unique, letting the other woman talk to the shelter workers and receive the list of rules for visiting. Her eyes are already drifting to the compound behind the door, and the animals there.

She loves animals, and it's been an old dream of hers to be settled enough to be able to keep a pet. Marley had always envisioned that time to be the mythical period after she'd graduated from college and got a steady job.

Unique slips her hand into Marley's. "You ready?" she asks, as the shelter worker opens the door for them.

"Yeah."

The worker – whose nametag says Sandra – gives them brief descriptions of the dogs they have up for adoption. Since Unique hasn't given her any particular descriptor of what they're looking for, they get the grand tour.

Unique herself is rather taken with a cheerful Dachshund and Chihuahua mix named Simba, who approaches the bars of his cage to lick delicately at Unique's fingers. It makes her swear to drag Andrew to their local shelter with plans to adopt one of their own.

But Marley's attention is immediately drawn to one of the cages at the back of the room. Sandra spots her looking, and brings them closer. "This is Hugo," she says. "He's a Jack Russell. We think he's about ten years old, but he's in excellent health." At the sound of his name, Hugo's ears prick forward, but he stays put.

"Can I take a closer look at him?"

Sandra nods, bending to unlatch the cage. "Come on, boy," she coaxes. The dog responds with a nervous wag. "He hasn't been here long; he was found wandering the streets a few blocks over. Probably abandoned by his family." Sandra blows out her bangs. "It's very likely he'll spend the rest of his years with us, poor old man. Most of the folk that come here don't want an older dog."

Marley crouches down and extends one hand towards the dog. "Hugo," she tries. The ears swivel in her direction. She looks into sad brown eyes – and melts. "Come here, boy."

Slowly, the dog uncurls and walks out. He stands in front of Marley and regards her for a long moment; Marley stares back, not looking away from his sad eyes. "You've been hurt," she murmurs, "I don't blame you for being hesitant. You trusted someone and they let you down, didn't they?"

His tail wags again. Marley doesn't look away from those eyes as Hugo walks closer, close enough to lower his muzzle and lick her fingers.

* * *

The next few hours they spend shopping for dog things. Marley lets Unique go wild as the doting godmother (a title she claimed for herself), smiling as she trails after her best friend. It feels very much like when they were in high school, and they'd go window shopping in the mall. The only difference now seems to be their spending power – and sartorial taste, it seems. Marley draws the line at doggy clothes and other such accessories.

By the time they exit the mall, considerably laden down with shopping, the late afternoon sun paints everything gold. It's a picturesque backdrop for another goodbye she's not ready for. When they're packing up Unique's things, Marley tries not to cry.

"Hey."

She looks up.

Unique takes the DVD case out of Marley's hand. "You'll be fine," she says determinedly. "You're tough."

"Toughest thing in Bowery aside from Dan's steak," says Marley.

"Did he say that? I knew I liked that man." Unique still has yet to let go of her best friend. "Ugh, it doesn't feel like a week. I need to come here more often. Or you need to come out and spend more time with us. I know Drew would marry you given half the chance if I told him you'd cook."

"Lies. We both know he'd pick my mom over the both of us."

"That is true. He's such a guy sometimes; all about his stomach." Unique kneels down, clucking gently, holding out a hand to Hugo; she sighs, disappointed, when the dog doesn't even look in her direction. "And here's another one. Strong, silent, only has eyes for one woman at a time."

"He'll warm up to you."

"Of course he will. I have my ways."

Marley eyes the last of Unique's luggage. Half the DVDs she'd brought now adorned the shelf beside Marley's television, with the excuse that she didn't want to pay for excess baggage for her return trip.

Knowing her best friend, there'll be bits and pieces all over that she'll be uncovering for days – and she won't think much of it.

The past week has been an emotional journey, and she's grateful for Unique. However…

… there are some things she has to do alone.

* * *

The words come easy, when they're set to music, and not spoken towards Quinn.

She writes furiously. GarageBand isn't the right tool that gives voice to the raw splintering of her heart, so she borrows a guitar from the studio and a book of chords, picking away until her fingers are just as raw as the rest of her.

The experience is cathartic. When everything else has left her, Marley will always have music.

 _We found a tender love it blossomed wild and free.  
_ _Pure proof was in your arms when you were kissing me.  
_ _I was an open book, you were an ocean breeze;  
_ _rustling through pages I never should have let you see._

 _Never should have let you see._

 _Was I so wrong being such an open book?  
_ _Trusting so soon, losing all the tender time it took to love you,  
_ _just to crawl away with broken wings  
_ _and the pieces of my heart still splintering._

 _The pieces of my heart still splintering._

"That's nice. Who is it by? Someone we've already signed, I hope." He chortles at his own joke.

Marley clears her throat, self-conscious. "Um, me."

Her boss coughs. "You? You mean, you wrote that? Really?" His eyes crinkle at the sides. "Huh. You could give Trent Morgan a run for his money. Maybe we should have produced you, instead of him."

"I, um." She stumbles over a proper response. "You hired me as a producer, sir."

Jessup chuckles. "Cute. You're really not looking for any more than that, are you?"

"Not really, no. I'm not interested in the performing. I like what I do, and the songwriting is more of a hobby." Marley clears her throat. "You lobbied for me to be hired here, and took care of everything. I appreciate that."

"Well, if you say so. I'll respect your decision." Jessup pauses on his way out. "One last thing, Marley?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If you ever think about taking that hobby professional, we'd be interested. Just something to think about." And he leaves her to do exactly that.

* * *

Even though the original reason for Doctor C's homework is gone, Marley still keeps up with it. Its purpose has changed; it's not helping Marley discover things about herself that she'd lost or forgotten. It's reshaping her life, making new memories and helping her grow into this new life of hers.

It's the reason why she ends up in the philosophy section of her local bookstore, and comes face to face with a familiar book. Marley buys it, and heads home to start reading _Antifragile_ in Hugo's stoic company.

Marley doesn't know what she's hoping to gain from reading that book. It's much weightier than the fiction novels she reads for fun. An insight on what makes Quinn Fabray tick? Some light shed on their cracks which she didn't see until they were crevasses?

Over time, the impulse to go to New York has gradually lost its impetus. It was strongest in the immediate aftermath of Quinn's departure, to the point Marley would have followed her back (just to apologize, she'd rationalize to herself). Unique may have known this; it certainly explains why her best friend stayed with her.

But it doesn't change how much she misses Quinn. That had never been the problem.

Now, she realizes she can't go after Quinn even if she wants to (and she wants, so much). So many times, she would patiently wait for Quinn to come to her; now, more than ever, Marley's instincts tell her to do the same.

Even if there's no real reason Quinn should ever come back.

* * *

Impulse shopping is not a habit she indulges, especially not with the upbringing she's had.

But Marley doesn't need to think it over when she spies a bright blue bowl, partly bisected by a spidery trail in gold. It's going for a reasonable price in an antique shop not far from work. _Authentic from Japan_ , the salesman assures her, and she buys it.

She's feeling good about herself, about everything, for the first time in what feels like forever. Marley checks her phone and sees a text from Finn.

 _U free now? Wanna hang out or smth_

She replies in the affirmative, adding that she's currently out and will be home shortly, and she now has a dog at home. Marley likes having friends around, and the more good people Hugo gets to meet, the better.

Her phone floods with texts while she's driving. She doesn't open them until the car's safely parked in its lot.

 _Cool! Brt wants pics_

 _Do u hav lays i cn brng snax lmk wat u wan_

 _Brts free shes comin 2 if u dont mind cn she brng tubbs_

 _Nah bad idea tubbs is grumpy c u soon_

 _4got ure prbly drivin nvm re: snax_

Marley's snickering as she reads through the texts in chronological order. **Any snax r fine,** she writes back.

Hugo's waiting for her at the door. "Hey, buddy," she says, bending to scratch him behind one floppy ear, "we're expecting company in a bit." He sniffs at her, pads over to his dog bed in front of the couch, and flops down.

It's not long before her doorbell rings. She lets them in.

"Hey," says Finn.

"Hi, Marley!" says Brittany brightly. "Finny said you have a dog now!"

"Yeah, I got him from the shelter last week…" She trails off when Hugo trots over to lick Brittany's face enthusiastically, tail wagging. Marley shrugs, accepting that her friend will always have a way with animals beyond common understanding. "That's Hugo, by the way. Whom you're already acquainted with. Clearly."

"He's really happy you chose him," she informs them all, seriously, "he likes having a family again."

Finn smiles indulgently at her, stooping to pat Hugo before returning to Marley. "So," begins Finn, "I had a weird thought; like you've never actually seen a game with both me and Britt, so here we are." He's already located the remote, operating it as though this is his house. Finn makes himself comfy on the couch.

"We brought snacks!" Brittany starts taking out bags of food, arranging them on the coffee table. "Unique said you like this." She pushes a bag of tomato herb popcorn towards Marley.

"Just in time for the game," chimes in Finn. "Lakers playing the Rockets." He settles back in.

Marley smiles. She's been on her own for barely a day (not counting Hugo), and she can't help but think that this spontaneous visit has something to do with Unique. Her suspicions are confirmed when Brittany wraps her up in one of her Brittany-hugs and whispers _we hope you're feeling better_ in her ear.

"Not that I don't like having you guys around, but how did you find out?" She fully expects Brittany to say something like _Lord Tubbington read the air_ or _we calculated it using derivative calculus_ , but Brittany simply says: "San told me."

"Santana…?"

Finn blinks. "Santana what?"

"Santana told me that Marley needed us, baby," says Brittany. "That's why we're here."

"Oh. Okay." He turns back to the game.

Marley blinks, confused by the entire exchange. "Britt, Santana told you?"

"Oh, yeah. She's always had my number, but she doesn't use it unless there's a big emergency. She's still a bit of a Lebanese, but these days it's not about liking girls but rather letting people see that she really does care. So she was worried about Marley, so she called me to tell me what happened."

"That's really cool of her," says Finn, nodding. He drapes an arm around the back of the couch cushions, creating a space that Brittany fits into.

Marley does recall that apart from Rachel and Santana, here are two other people who know Quinn fairly well. She makes a mental note to thank Santana – in private, unknown to anyone who might want to know that the brash Latina actually has a marshmallow core. "Thanks, guys."

She's suddenly aware of eyes staring at her. "Hugo wants to be included in the couch huddle as well," announces Brittany unnecessarily, as the dog peers up at them.

"Sure, buddy." The dog lets himself be picked up, much to Marley's surprise. He curls up on her free side, his nose touching her knee.

* * *

Marley waits until it's a decent hour in New York before she calls.

She takes out her phone and stares at it. Before Unique left, she'd taken a photo of Hugo and set it as Marley's new lockscreen; but if Marley stares hard enough, she can imagine Quinn's face there.

So far, she's doing well. She'd successfully stopped herself from visiting any form of social media. She doesn't dwell on things that they've shared.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Santana."

"Is there a reason we're interacting, when you can just call Rachel?"

"Yeah. Thanks for sending Brittany."

Santana makes all sorts of huffing noises, before settling on a flat, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"She told me."

"And you believed her? She's Britt; she thinks that demon cat of hers is smart enough to run a coffee business." Santana groans. "I make one. _One_. One teensy throwaway comment about calling me, and you don't let that go. Seriously, Rosie, what will it take for you to forget?"

"I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate all of it. Everything you and Rachel are doing for us," says Marley. In the background, she hears a voice say: "Bunny? Who's that?"

"Hang on a mo'," says Santana.

"Bunny?" Marley asks when Santana comes back onto the line. She does a fairly good job of suppressing her laughter.

"It's short for the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog," she says dryly.

"Uh, okay?" Santana doesn't sound like she's joking. In hindsight, it sort of explains what Brittany saw in Santana – and what Rachel sees, for that matter.

"Whatever. You've probably done worse, just that I'm lucky enough not to be mentally scarred by them." She pauses. "You done?"

"Yeah."

"Good. There are better things I could be doing, or people, if you get what I mean."

Marley smiles fondly. "Thanks, Santana."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Souvenirs_ by Kina Grannis; Marley's song is actually _Splintering_ by Sara Bareilles.

* * *

 **Further Author's Notes:** I'm sure y'all hate me now :D I'm on Archive of Our Own (AO3) or Tumblr under the same name if you would like to register your complaints.


	15. Part Fourteen

**Author's Notes:** With much thanks to **Mike** the Americanizer, beta, and proofreader of over-enthusiastic commas. Any mistakes left are mine, and they are remarkable indeed to have survived so many rounds of writing/editing/rewriting/proofreading.

* * *

 **Part Fourteen:** _If I'm wrong I am right/don't need to look no further_

* * *

 **One Year Later**

* * *

It took her a month before she found herself a new favorite coffee place.

There was nothing wrong with the old one, really. It just has too many memories attached that Marley would rather not deal with on a daily basis. So she set off on an expedition, determined to find another cozy cafe that fit her requirements.

Los Angeles is a big city. Even then, it takes a month of daily searching – weekday browsing, weekend expeditions – before she stumbles upon it in true fairytale fashion.

The keyword _stumbles_ implies that it's off the beaten and touristy path, and that it will stay relatively empty. The plush chairs, friendly barista, and freshly-baked cranberry muffins seal the deal.

But it takes another three months before she finds that creating her own memories here, on her own, doesn't sit well with her. The days blur together into iced teas and printed pages, indistinguishable from one another, and she is disappointed.

(Her reading list shrinks considerably, but Marley has the sneaking suspicion that she didn't absorb any of it.)

So almost six months to the day she left her old haunt, Marley finds herself back again, a revenant. Even standing on the sidewalk outside, memories start to overwhelm her.

She'd found this place when she was showing Quinn around the city area, and they'd stopped for a drink. It was near enough the main tourist spots but surprisingly not as crowded as they'd expected. Quinn had suggested they try it instead of the other spot a block down because the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee was discernible even from where they stood on the pavement.

The air still smells faintly of coffee. If she closes her eyes, Marley can see Quinn before her, smiling at her over one shoulder.

Marley smiles back.

* * *

The second time she ever contemplates turning her hobby into a job (she'd secretly hoped for this when she sent off songs to competitions, back in high school), it's immediately after Marley finishes another song. Her guitar skills have improved tremendously from C-G-D-E and permutations thereof, but she keeps it pared down. Marley likes the simplicity of someone, anyone, being able to pick up a guitar and sing along.

She plays through the chords again, pencil scratching minor corrections on paper occasionally. When she's satisfied with her work, Marley releases a content sigh and rests her chin on the guitar body.

"Are you playing?" asks a familiar voice, sounding amused. "Or is the guitar just that comfortable?"

She flushes scarlet, sitting up straight. "Trent!"

"Hey, partner. It's been a while, yeah?"

"Too long," she agrees, still flustered. "It's late. Shouldn't you be heading home?" Marley's about to put the guitar she's been using as a chin rest in its case when he stops her.

"I could say the same for you, but I think we've got other things on our minds." Trent pulls up a stool. His guitar is out of its case and in his lap almost immediately.

"Like being newly single?"

He plays the opening chords of Fleetwood Mac's _I Don't Want To Know_ with a flourish, making them both laugh. "Damn. Sorry to hear that, though."

"Thanks, Trent."

"But, you know what that means for us!"

Marley wrinkles her nose. "Ice cream and sad movies?"

"After that," he insists with a boyish grin.

Marley smiles, shaking her head. If her heart hadn't already been taken, she could easily see herself being attracted to Trent; his easy charm and talent were very appealing. "We write songs about tear-soaked pillows and broken hearts?"

"Of course." As he talks, he goes through an increasingly complicated series of chord progressions. Marley watches, fascinated, as his fingers move up and down the fretboard. "You got anything so far?"

"Better than the last time. I've got some words, some music, even some fancy guitar moves."

"Cutting out the middleman. Efficient of you, Rose."

"I can't always have Trent Morgan at my beck and call. You have a career to attend to."

He laughs. "Won't be much of a career if I don't come up with that follow-up album soon. I got critics waitin' on me not to be the 'Vanilla Ice of country music'," he drawls in a thick Midwestern accent. "How 'bout you help out a cowpoke here?"

"Of course. I'll ask Mr Jessup to assign me to the project; you have no idea how good it would be to work with you again, after the disaster zone that was _Tap-Dancing Bears_ …"

"That band name already says a lot about them," says Trent, "but that's not the only thing I had in mind."

"Huh?"

"I want you producing my album; that goes without saying. But I'm thinking this time, we could collaborate proper. Write a couple of songs even."

In her surprise, Marley abandons picking at the sleeve of her flannel shirt. "You want _me_ to write songs for you?"

"I want you to write songs _with_ me," corrects Trent. "Lovely as your voice is, darlin', I need to be able to sing those songs without putting my balls in a vice. We made a good team for that song of yours back then, didn't we?"

Marley nods. "We did." The memory hurts, just a little. "But that was for fun. You want me to work with you, officially?"

"Songwriting credits, a glamour photo in my album liner art, the works." Trent's brows furrow suddenly. "You think Jessup wouldn't let you go for it? I can go talk to the boss man…"

"That's not it at all," says Marley. "I have the feeling that he wouldn't mind at all." She smirks.

His answering smile is infectiously bright. "Excellent."

* * *

It used to be the case, as with most people living alone, that Marley's hours were irregular. Dinner varied in timing and portions, depending on whether she felt like being home at the time.

Hugo changes most of that. He's content with being left to his own devices all day – she'd worried that he would be lonely, and she might have to get him a friend – but Marley makes sure she leaves work punctually so they can have dinner at the same time daily.

"Hey, Hugo," she says, kicking the front door shut behind her. Hugo noses her leg and accepts a scratch behind an ear. "Are you hungry? I'm starving."

Marley drops her takeout dinner and her jacket on the table, going to the cupboard to retrieve Hugo's kibble. "So, whatcha do today, buddy?" she asks absently. "Had a good nap? Did you play with the new toy Aunty Britt bought you?"

He wags his tail, staring at her. Marley takes that as an affirmative answer, pretending it has nothing to do with the bowl of doggy kibble she has in her hand. "Great! Maybe later we can get some photos of you with it. We'll send that to Aunty Britt as her thank-you note."

She sets the bowl down and leaves him to it.

After dinner, Marley is extremely pleased when Hugo fetches his stuffed duck for her. "Such a good boy," she coos, snapping photo after photo, and sending them in the group chat she created specifically for this purpose. "Ooh, this one's _so_ good. We'll send this one to Grandma, okay, handsome boy?"

He plays a few rounds of fetch with her, nails clicking on the floor as he trots back and forth. Marley is pleased; for an older dog, Hugo is fairly active.

After a few rounds of this, Hugo takes the duck to his bed, refusing to surrender it to her. "Welp," says Marley, standing up and arching her back. "About time to call it a night, eh?"

Marley fetches her current book from her bag, settling on the couch to read.

" _Love, no matter else it might be, is a natural talent. You are either born knowing how or you never know."_

Marley frowns at the words. She isn't sure she knows what they mean, but she can't help coming back to reread them.

"What do you think, Hugo?"

His eyes open a fraction but he makes no other indication that he's heard her.

"I guess you wouldn't know. You're a dog; you love everyone already." Smiling, Marley leans over to rub his fluffy head.

The quote has put her in a pensive mood. Marley takes out her phone again to check her social media.

Her heart skips a beat when she sees this post most of her friends have liked, and – it's about Quinn.

Blaine made a post with too many emojis (about par for the course with him, really) with a link to some article. Marley clicks on the link and scans the article – not an article in the strictest sense of the word, but a critical review of a recently-published book – and it's written by a L. Quinn Fabray.

She frowns. As far as she knows, Quinn works at a _publishing house_. Quinn's job consists of proofreading manuscripts, and managing other people who read manuscripts. She has no idea how Quinn's found the time to be writing things like _this_.

Her gaze travels to the corner of her living room. Despite Doctor C's misgivings, she'd kept a calendar on her wall. The day she'd broken up with Quinn was marked in red, as the beginning of the rest of her days. Every day after was ticked off as they passed. It gives Marley a sense of satisfaction, akin to actual physical distance traveled, to draw in a black cross over the little rectangle.

She is learning to look past the absolute joyful highs and the emotional lows of Quinn Fabray. Marley has long accepted she will always be in love with Quinn, but that doesn't mean she can't live without her.

She understands what that means, now.

Marley has spent a long time pondering her part in the failure of their relationship. The what-ifs and maybes still plague her, of course, but much less these days – part of the natural process of getting-over-but-not-really (she should write a book about it). But she's Marley Rose, and she writes songs.

She shakes her thoughts out of the past. Making a mental note to ask Rachel what the article is about (when she can muster the courage), Marley returns to her book.

* * *

The day starts out perfectly ordinary. She feeds Hugo, waters Peter Parker. Makes breakfast for herself, with a mug of _Tubbington's Finest_ (that's more milk and sugar than coffee) that'll take the entire day to finish anyway.

Marley's expecting a delivery in the afternoon. FedEx texted her an hour ago to let her know that the van's left the warehouse, and should be in her neighbourhood.

"Looks like your new doggy coat will be arriving today," she tells Hugo. Really, she should give Unique an earful for even daring to buy the ridiculous thing. Her best friend had very wisely waited until she was safely out of the city before mailing the coat.

Hugo lifts his head to peer at her, before returning his attention to his food bowl.

Marley takes no offense. Hugo is far more responsive to her than Valentino ever was, which is reassuring to her wellbeing. "Yeah, you got the right idea." She goes back to her toast.

The doorbell startles her. The text estimated delivery in about two hours, and it's barely been thirty minutes since Marley got that text. "Looks like they're here." She pushes off from the table. "We get to take pictures of you in your fancy new coat for Aunty Unique. Make sure you look grateful, 'kay?"

Hugo makes a huffing noise. He sticks close to her heels as she goes to answer the door.

Marley unlocks it and freezes.

" _Quinn_."

A year is nothing, a single bar in the symphony of a lifetime. Quinn looks exactly the same, but there's something different about her that makes Marley's breath catch.

Quinn's gaze finally lifts to hers. A multitude of emotions lurk in hazel-green depths. "Marley. I… you look well."

"It's been a year, Quinn." She didn't mean to state the obvious, but most of her mental capacity has deserted her.

She'd said the words quietly. Yet, Quinn flinches as though Marley's words are physical blows.

"I know." She looks uncomfortable, and uncertain; descriptors she doesn't usually associate with Quinn. It disconcerts Marley to see her like this. "I needed time to sort myself out."

Marley tries not to look as concerned as she feels. "What happened to us wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't anyone's fault, but… there's no denying each of us had our individual part to play," replies Quinn. Her gaze lifts to Marley's, holds it for a long minute.

"You… want to come inside?" asks Marley through a dry throat. Right on cue, Hugo pokes his head around her legs to stare at Quinn.

"Is that your dog?"

"Yeah. I adopted Hugo from the shelter about a year ago."

Quinn smiles. She crouches to extend a hand to Hugo, who licks it. "He's adorable."

"Thanks. That's not strictly true, though; he's really a grumpy old man in a little dog body." Talking about Hugo helps to calm Marley down, and cast everything that's going on into some sense of normalness. "I… do you want anything to drink? Water?"

Quinn follows her into the house, seating herself at the kitchen table. "I'm fine, thanks. To be honest… I didn't plan on staying here long."

"Why?"

"Why what? Not staying here long?"

"You know what I mean. _Why_?" She flaps a hand in Quinn's direction. "Why now?" Marley gives this little laugh, trying to play off her question as something flippant. "I've just got everything back together, and you just – you show up now, one whole _year_ later, and – " She cuts herself off, not knowing what else to say that she won't regret later.

Quinn looks taken aback by the question, but Marley doesn't care. She's waited a long time for this without knowing she had been, and she wants answers for everything she's feeling now. "Quinn – I'm happy to see you. I really am. But it's been a _year_. A whole year you weren't a part of my life. Her eyes prick, much to her annoyance. "I'm trying to make sense of all this."

"I'm sorry. I know this must be hard. Will you let me explain?"

"Yes – of course. Start from the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"Tell me everything."

Quinn's teeth press into her lower lip briefly. "The beginning… there was the shock of it, I suppose. I felt as though something vital had been cut away, out of me, with a blunt knife. But I managed to get back to New York, somehow, where Rachel and Santana collected me from the airport, took me to their apartment, and basically smothered me for the next few weeks."

Marley laughs weakly. "Santana did?"

"Her own brand of smothering," clarifies Quinn. "Nothing I wasn't already used to. But about two weeks in, I realized something." She runs her hand over her wrist absently. "I hadn't thought of calling them, but they were there, and they knew what had happened. I started getting random parcels from Brittany. Even Finn texted me, once or twice." Quinn's eyes soften. "It was you."

"I was worried about you."

"Most people wouldn't have done that."

"I'm not most people."

Quinn shakes her head, fondness still evident in warm hazel eyes. "I know."

"For the record, Santana was the one who called Brittany," says Marley. "I just wanted to make sure you made it back alright, and that you would have someone to be there for you – even when you're still not in the habit of letting them be."

"Noted," replies Quinn.

Marley contemplates Quinn's hands, folded gracefully on the table between them. As she's still wondering if it was too much for her to touch, Quinn starts to speak again: "I thought a lot about that day. I still do. There was so much that wasn't there before, or perhaps we'd ignored the signs long enough. And then I asked myself how did everything go so wrong. Remember that last Christmas? At your house?"

"Yes." The two of them, curled up in each other, able to pretend they existed in a world created solely for them. Being together, making theoretical plans for a future.

"I wanted all of that with you, so badly. I was determined to quit that very day and fly to Los Angeles. But they didn't take my resignation. They promoted me instead and I… I took it. I told myself that you would be okay with it because it was something good for my career." Quinn lowers her gaze, presumably in shame. "I didn't even realize something was wrong until I came to see you. And then…" She trails off.

Marley doesn't know what to say.

"When I went back to work, the first thing I did was revoke that transfer request," continues Quinn. "And they told me that they had never intended on opening that branch."

"What?"

Quinn laughs, a bitter sound. "They'd only made that up because they were desperate to keep me on, and they were stalling for time to create an opening so they could tempt me into staying by promoting me. Amazing, right? Everything, for nothing." Her mouth twists. "I quit on the spot. I told them I couldn't work for a company that resorted to underhanded tricks to keep employees."

"I'm sorry," says Marley. It feels weak, but she honestly doesn't know what to say. Conflicting words and emotions swirl inside her, clamoring to be voiced.

"Don't be. I got out, in the end; that was what I wanted." She sighs.

"What happened after that?"

"More soul-searching," replies Quinn nonchalantly. "I asked myself a lot of questions. Now that work was no longer an issue, where did I want to go? What did I really want to do? What did I want, period." She tilts her head to one side. "You were the answer to most of these questions."

"When was this?" she asks thickly.

"Last March."

"Why didn't you tell me?" _Why didn't you come for me sooner,_ says the little voice at the back of her mind.

Quinn shakes her head. "Marley, if I had done that – flown to Los Angeles, showed up at your house, made some big dramatic gesture – it wouldn't have solved anything in the long run. The distance was a major problem, true, but if it had been the only problem, we wouldn't have broken up that day. It was a symptom, not the disease."

She could see the logic of this, but it didn't mean she had to like it. "So, what happened instead?"

"I started trying – _really_ trying," says Quinn simply. "Rachel was able to recommend me a few good therapists, and I booked a trial session."

Marley finds herself speechless. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"That's amazing."

Quinn shakes her head, smiling faintly. "Not as amazing as you. You're a walking testament to self-improvement. Marley, you overcame an eating disorder. You earned yourself a full ride to one of the best schools in the country, and got recruited to a major recording label almost immediately after graduating."

"I had a lot of help," says Marley, going pink.

"Which I also needed," replies Quinn. "It took a long time for me to realize that – and longer to accept it."

A smile spreads across her face. "Did it? Help, I mean."

Quinn's expression sharpens as she considers her answer. "It wasn't a miracle cure, but it helped me put a lot of things in my life into perspective. Dr Miller – my therapist – helped me understand myself better; why I say and do the things I say and do, but don't actually mean. Managing the parts of me that I hate about myself, like how I lash out. My tendency to run." She looks embarrassed; Marley takes Quinn's hand into both of hers before she realizes what she's doing.

"Speaking as someone who had to be forced into therapy… that's a huge step." She squeezes. "I'm so proud of you."

"Wait. You were forced?"

Marley presses her lips together in a tight smile. "I acknowledged I had a problem. It took me a while to acknowledge I couldn't fix it on my own, and that I needed help… _and_ longer still, to be able to ask for it."

"That doesn't diminish everything you've achieved since then," says Quinn.

To hide the fact she no longer knows what to say – now not because she has no way of expressing her conflicted emotions, but because she has drained away those emotions – Marley lowers her gaze to Quinn's hand, cradled in her palms. She turns the hand palm-up, fingers stroking the inside of Quinn's wrist.

"What happens now?"

"I don't know," replies Quinn. Her eyes stay fixed on her hand in Marley's. "I set out to tell you all this, but… I didn't really think about what happens after that."

"For the record, I'm glad you're here."

Marley's quiet exhale catches when Quinn's hand flexes, and fingers close around her own.

Eyes dart up to her face, and back to their hands. "I've missed you."

Marley closes her eyes. There's too much pain in that voice she knows and loves so well; she put it there. "I've missed you too." She squeezes Quinn's fingers. "You don't know how much I've wanted to see you again. God, I'm such a mess."

"You're not." Fingers wipe away her tears with gentle strokes. "But, even if you are, that's okay."

She closes her eyes again and relishes the familiar sensation of having someone take care of her. "Over all this time, I've come to realize something," says Marley quietly. "I change when I'm with someone. With Jake, with Alex… with you."

Quinn looks like she wants to say something. Marley's hand on her arm stops her.

"But I liked who I was with you. I learned new things about myself and the world every day. I saw the beauty in places I never knew could be beautiful. When I was with you, you made me feel like I was more beautiful, more talented, more incredible than the person I saw in the mirror daily."

"You didn't need me for all that," insists Quinn.

"Yes, I did. You helped me believe in everything I could be." Marley smiles. "I honestly think I wouldn't be here," she gestures to their surroundings, "if not for you."

"That's ridiculous. You could have been stuck in New York, working some crappy job to make ends meet because of me. You nearly chose me over your career."

"But I didn't. Even when I thought I'd lose you – and actually lost you – I didn't." She takes a deep breath. "We're here now, again. I choose to believe that means something, Quinn." Marley pauses. "For us."

"As friends?"

She can see Quinn struggling with herself after she says the words. Marley chuckles softly. "We've always been friends, Quinn. That hasn't changed. I meant… more."

Confusion clouds Quinn's eyes first, before it melts away into uncertainty – and perhaps, a glimmer of hope. "Are… are you sure?"

"No." Marley's lips quirk, and then become a full smile when faced with Quinn's consternation. "But I've never let that stop me, to be honest."

They smile at each other. Quinn breaks the spell, shaking her head. "I've always admired that in you, honestly."

"What? My inability to take directions from the universe?"

The weak joke has its intended effect of defusing most of the tension from the conversation. Quinn chuckles softly. "Actually, yes. You know your path, and you're not afraid to pursue it."

Marley takes the bold step of cupping Quinn's cheek with her hand. Her skin is warm and soft, and she can feel the faint thrum of Quinn's heartbeat under her fingers. "I'm not afraid anymore," she murmurs.

The urge to kiss her is overwhelming. Marley knows exactly how to kiss Quinn, and how kissing her will feel. But she doesn't. She doesn't want to create any more heartbreak for them, especially now; not when everything but what she wants is so uncertain.

Evidently Quinn feels the same way, because she puts distance between them; clearing her throat, she checks her watch. "I think I should go."

"Go?"

"You probably have other plans for today," says Quinn. "I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be intruding in anything! Hugo and I, we were gonna go for a walk and we don't mind the extra company. Right, Hugo?" She smiles brightly at the Jack Russell, but the traitorous dog simply cocks an ear in their direction and continues napping.

"Thanks a lot," she mutters under her breath. Turning back to Quinn, Marley says brightly: "Uhm, maybe later."

"Maybe another day," Quinn corrects her without any hardness in her voice.

"But – "

"It's been eventful enough, especially for you; I just showed up on your doorstep without warning."

"That's kind of your thing," quips Marley.

Quinn's mouth twitches, but she continues: "You need time to think everything over, and… so do I, to be honest. We can always talk another day – I'm not going anywhere."

"Not going anywhere?"

She drops her gaze. "I – live here now."

It takes a while to process the words. "You – what? You _live_ here? _This_ city?"

Quinn sighs. "Like you said – it's been a year. I had to be absolutely sure I would choose New York or LA on my own terms. Once I chose, it took me a while to make the arrangements; find a job and apartment and familiarize myself with the city."

Marley does her best to control the sudden swooping leap of her heart. "You live here _now_."

"Yeah." There's a wry twist to Quinn's mouth. "That's exactly why I said we should do this another day – not just because we can, but I think you need time to process all this."

"Fine," concedes Marley – if only because she can't think of anything to respond to that. "Another day."

Quinn nods. "You can ask me anything you've wanted to ask. We can talk about everything that's happened – or even just the best food trucks in the city. It doesn't matter."

"Talk, huh?"

"You seem surprised," Quinn comments, not unkindly.

"Surprised, yes," admits Marley. "You don't normally suggest talking first, and I'm sure all of this isn't something you'd want to talk about. You've always been more inclined to run away than talk about feelings."

"I've been on the run for years, Marley. I'm tired of running," she offers with a tired smile. Quinn stands; Marley follows her to the front door and opens it.

"So…" God, she feels like she's seventeen again; awkward and off-balance. "I'll call you? If your number hasn't changed?"

"It hasn't," Quinn confirms.

"Can I hug you?"

"Marley…"

"No, forget it. Forget I asked."

But Quinn steps forward, expression determined. Marley finds herself wrapped up in a warm embrace. She melts.

"I'm sorry," whispers Quinn into her ear.

"I understand." Marley presses her face into the comfortable space between Quinn's neck and shoulder. "I've just missed this, that's all. I didn't think I'd see you again."

Maybe it's her imagination, but she sees Quinn mouth _me too_ before pulling away.

* * *

After Quinn's left, the first thing she does is pick up her phone.

"Hi, Marley!" says Rachel cheerfully. "What's up?"

"Did you know Quinn moved here? To Los Angeles?"

"Uh…"

In the background, Marley hears loud laughter. "Is that Santana?"

" _Ay, Dios mio_ ," cackles Santana. "Fabgay finally showed up on your doorstep, did she? And it only took her a couple of months. She's made progress, alright."

"So you knew from the start? Why didn't you tell me?" asked Marley, even though she already knew the answer.

"She asked us not to tell you, in the strictest terms possible," chimes in Rachel this time. "She guessed that we were in touch with you."

"Tubbers is smart for a blonde. Even a bottled one. The peroxide does things to your brain, y'know."

"Santana, go _away_. Let me talk to Marley," huffs Rachel.

"I _am_ letting you talk. My job here is to provide the real facts because you sugarcoat every damn thing."

Marley sighs. "Guys? Still here."

After about a minute of silence, Rachel's voice comes back on the line. "Marley?"

"Yep."

"Yes. Sorry. Quinn was very adamant she do everything on her own – you know how she is."

She can't help her fond smile. "Yeah."

"So, how was it? Is she there now?"

"No, she just left." Happiness bubbles up within Marley as she adds, "But we made plans to meet up again soon."

"Okay. Good." Rachel pauses. "She didn't tell us she was going to see you today," she confesses.

"I gathered."

Rachel chuckles softly. "I was a little taken aback when you called, to be honest."

"So am I." Marley blows out her cheeks, lets herself sink more comfortably onto the couch.

"How are you feeling?"

"Happy. Exhausted. Like I ran a marathon, but emotionally. But… mostly happy." Much to her horror, Marley's voice wobbles a little. "I've missed her so much. I thought I'd never see her again. She… I know she needed space. I appreciate you guys inviting me to New York, and just being there for me as well, but… she's done so well without me."

"And she'll do even better from now on," says Rachel. Her voice also sounds suspiciously thick. "You've been nothing short of amazing over this year, Marley, and I'm proud to call you my friend. Quinn's so lucky to have met you – we all are. Marley?"

"Yeah?"

"You're okay? We can always fly over there if you need us. Santana has sick days saved up, and I can always claim a day or two to recharge my voice. That's what understudies are for, anyway."

Marley stifles a giggle. "No, you don't have to. I'm fine, I promise. I appreciate you offering, though."

"Okay. If you're sure."

* * *

Middle ground.

The coffee place that was theirs, then nobody's, then Marley's.

(Marley's kind of crossing her fingers that it'll become theirs again even though she knows she shouldn't.)

She's early, as she always is. Marley decides to wait for Quinn before buying drinks. Marley is nervous, in a way she hasn't been in more than a year. If there is such a thing as first-date jitters, what is she feeling now?

Closure jitters? It is, of sorts, but Marley is really hoping it won't be all it is. Potential-reconciliation jitters?

God, she's hopeless.

She's been in love for a relatively short period of her life, but it's sunk into her soul, become such an integral part of her being, that Marley won't, doesn't want to fall out of love with Quinn. It's taken all her self-control learned from battling her disorder to keep herself in check, but…

She'll get over Quinn; that has never been in doubt. It's simply a matter of not wanting to.

But, what if nothing's changed? What if Quinn's still emotionally repressed? What if she still runs when overwhelmed?

What if she's just setting herself up for another devastating heartbreak?

Marley knows she's not capable of holding Quinn together anymore. That's not her job, nor should it have been. On her part, she likes to think she's more mature now – as mature as a year of being a single mom to a dog, a friend, a musician, will make her. It's a year spent working on herself, to be the best person she can be.

She wasn't lying when she told Quinn they're friends. That will never change. But she also wants more, to go back to everything they were before they tore themselves apart. Perhaps they can heal together, now.

Quinn walks in. She visibly lights up when she spots Marley in a corner of the space, and makes her way over. "Hey."

"Hi." Marley stands up. To keep herself from doing anything she may regret, she angles her body towards the counter. "Shall we get drinks? What do you want?" asks Marley, hoping it doesn't come off as stilted as it feels.

"The usual would be good," she says. "What do you want? An iced tea?"

Marley grins; she can't help it. "Yeah, exactly."

"You can sit down," insists Quinn, "I'll get it for you."

She acquiesces. Marley watches, entranced, as Quinn sweeps off towards the counter and joins the (mercifully short) queue. She thinks she may explode with anticipation from her monologue becoming a dialogue.

When Quinn returns, two iced teas in hand, she slides one across the table towards Marley. "The barista automatically made it a venti when he looked over in this direction," she comments. "Come here often?"

"Yeah." Marley smiles sheepishly. "I'm kinda infamous around here for never drinking the coffee."

Quinn laughs. "I thought you took up _Tubbington's Finest_?"

"Still in the process of habit forming. That's the only coffee I'll ever willingly drink, by the way." As she talks, she stirs her tea, takes a sip, adds a dash of sugar syrup, and stirs again. "Albeit with plenty of milk and sugar."

"I should've guessed." Quinn's eyes are still smiling as she sips her own tea.

"Tell me about your job," blurts out Marley. "Um, here. In LA," she adds, mentally kicking herself.

"Oh. Yes. I'm a lecturer at USC in English." She gives Marley a small smile. "A bit of a career change; I've always loved teaching."

"That sounds really great, though. I'm glad to hear you like it." Marley returns the smile.

"I do. Trust me, I've read way too many terrible manuscripts, it's fitting that I do my part to prevent the next generation from inflicting their work on the publishing industry." Quinn sips her tea. "And you? Still doing well at Atlantic?"

"Yeah. I've gotten a few more albums out. In fact, Trent – the guy I worked with, whose first album was also my first to produce – just asked me to work on another album with him. More than just production this time; he wants me to write songs with him."

Quinn hums approvingly. "That sounds like a fantastic opportunity for you. You're such a talented songwriter."

Marley's smile wavers. Then something snaps inside her. " _Fuck_ this."

"What?" Quinn stares, clearly shocked.

"This awkwardness." She jerks her hand back and forth between them. "This is – just, fuck it, Quinn. What are we doing?"

It takes a while for Quinn to respond verbally, but she eventually says: "We're getting to know each other again," in measured tones. "It's been a year."

"A year! After _years_ of knowing you! Not everything's changed so drastically." Marley takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself before she says something she'll regret. "Why are we making this so difficult? I love you. I'm in love with you. I want us to be together again." Her eyes search Quinn's face. "... Don't you want that, too?"

"Marley."

"Please. Just answer the question."

Quinn tries to laugh; the sound that escapes her resembles a sob. "We can't rush into this. God, Marley, don't you understand that rushing got us into this mess in the first place? Can't you see that I want us to be better so we don't make the same mistakes again?" She rests her head in her hands. "Fuck, I – it killed me the first time. I can't go through that again. Rachel and Santana told me everything, and I don't want _you_ going through that again.

I know it's so tempting to think everything that went wrong the first time is fixed. I'm here, I'm better now, you've had time to mature. But we've _both_ changed. For the better, arguably, but we're not the same people we were a year ago." Quinn looks up. "Love can't be the only thing keeping us together."

"I know that now," responds Marley.

Quinn keeps her gaze fixed resolutely on a point beyond Marley; she, in turn, stares into her tea.

"I think… we should go someplace else." Marley's words are fractured. She pushes aside her iced tea, and reaches for her bag. "Where we can talk. Or not talk, even. Just… somewhere other than here."

"Okay."

"We'll come back for your car, we won't be long," says Marley. Now that she has Quinn's cooperation, she's not about to take too much time, take more than she's been given. "It's not too far."

The other woman doesn't say anything else apart from her initial agreement. She simply nods, and gets into the passenger seat of Marley's car.

* * *

Quinn smiles for the first time since Marley's outburst when she sees the exit Marley turns into. "Griffith Observatory?"

"It's quiet," remarks Marley.

"Yeah."

Quinn immediately exits the car when Marley engages the handbrake. She walks to the overlook point, Marley quick to follow. Quinn braces her hands on the railing. "I haven't been here since the time we came."

"It hasn't changed much since then."

Quinn nods.

"You haven't answered my question," says Marley suddenly; Quinn turns her head to stare at her, blinking.

"That was blunt."

She blushes, feeling self-conscious. "I, um. I'm pretty impatient nowadays."

To her surprise, Quinn smiles. "I wouldn't call that being impatient. More… being straight to the point. Rather than wait patiently for me to open up, like you used to. I'd say this is a good thing."

Emboldened, Marley approaches the railing, picking a spot less than an arm's length to Quinn's left. "You'd be the only one. I've been told that it's a shock to everyone who's used to nice and sweet Marley Rose."

"Some assertiveness is always a good thing to have." On catching Marley's expression, Quinn sighs heavily. "I know. We didn't come up here to have more small talk."

"I don't want to pressure you – " begins Marley, feeling self-conscious.

"– you're not. I'll tell you if you are, but this… I'm fine. You deserve answers."

Marley shakes her head. "I just want to know why we're here, Quinn, and what we are. Isn't that why you showed up on my doorstep?"

"I thought…" Quinn exhales. "When I showed up at your house, Marley, it wasn't to get you back. It wanted closure."

Her heart splinters. "Closure."

"It's been a year," Quinn rushes to say, "since we broke up. We haven't spoken in that entire year. I was sure you'd moved on – "

"You idiot!" Marley interrupts heatedly. Quinn, startled, cuts herself off. "You – just because I'm not _with_ you, doesn't mean I can't _care_ about you, or even _love_ you. I know it's not healthy. I tried moving on, believe me. But we were friends before any of this – we promised we wouldn't lose this friendship if the relationship didn't work out."

"I would have understood if you never wanted to see me again, or slammed the door in my face." Quinn's eyes search Marley's face earnestly. "You know that, right?"

"I do. It's the same for me. But I… I never stopped loving you. You're not easy to love, I'll grant you that; but once I started, it's pretty damn impossible to fall out of love with you." Marley shakes her head. "Honestly, the only moving on I managed to do was accept that it may be over for good between us, and I'd never see you again."

"But you still loved me."

"Still do," murmurs Marley. She smiles weakly, which Quinn doesn't return. "I'm a fool, I know."

"For lack of a better word." Yet, Quinn looks like she doesn't mean it.

She shrugs. "I do want closure too. Like, if you've moved on, or…" The words have a bitter taste in her mouth, and they numb her tongue. Marley trails off.

Quinn shakes her head. "There hasn't been anyone else. How could I, after the mess that I made of another relationship?"

Marley gives her a sharp look.

"Sorry." Her lips press together. "That was uncalled for. But my point still stands; I'm focused on myself these days."

"You know, I wouldn't blame you, or hate you if you'd found someone else," says Marley. "I'd be happy for you. We've always been friends; there's nothing in the world that would make me stop caring about you. I just want you to be happy." Her voice cracks on the last word.

"But you're still hoping we can start again," offers Quinn tentatively.

Marley's tired. "Yes," she says, not bothering to sugarcoat her words. "You're the most complex, incredible, beautiful person inside-and-out that I've ever known, Quinn, and I'll do anything to keep you in my life, in any way you'll let me have you. Even if – " her teeth worry at her lower lip, "even if that means just friends, or…" She doesn't finish her sentence.

"I still love you."

Marley's head snaps up immediately.

"I never stopped," says Quinn, voice barely above a whisper.

They go silent, again. Quinn presses her lips together, Marley dares not break the fragile spell.

"But…"

"You don't want this," whispers Marley.

"I can't lose you again."

"You never lost me."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Marley growls – actually growls. She's furious, but she almost laughs when she sees the deliberate lack of emotion in Quinn's eyes be replaced with alarm. "God, you're frustrating. Just – tell me what you want. Whatever _you_ want – if you want me to leave, or never speak to you again – I'll respect your decision."

"Life isn't as easy as you make it out to be, Marley," snaps Quinn. "You can't see the future; if we get together again, there'll be fights and arguments. We're going to say terrible things we don't mean to each other. I can't be constantly venting my anger on you. I can't… I won't tie you down for the rest of your life, in case there's someone out there who can love you like you deserve to be loved."

Marley laughs incredulously. "Were you not listening to me earlier? I don't want anyone else who can love me better or whatever. I don't want anyone perfect. I want _you_. You and your stupidly insufferable ideas of nobility and self-sacrifice, and whatever you think I deserve."

" _You_ were the one who told me I should find someone who could give me everything I deserve," shot back Quinn.

"... I was wrong." Marley gives a bitter laugh. "I was being like you are now. That's why I'm telling you now that I've grown; I _can_ give you better. I _can_ be better for you."

"I don't need you to be better for me. I just need you to be yourself."

"I guess we can agree on that."

Marley leans forward, putting more weight on her arms, as though talking has sapped all the strength from her. "So… what now?"

Quinn blows out her bangs. "I don't know. I was hoping that one of us would be smarter at this."

" _I_ know what _I_ want," says Marley stubbornly. "I'm just waiting on you to tell me if what _you_ want is the same thing."

"Tell me what you want," Quinn says, not responding to the second part of Marley's words.

"I think you were right when you said we rushed into a lot of things. I do think we should take things slowly. But I was thinking – and hoping – we could take things slowly. Together." Marley runs her hand through her hair, mussing what the wind hasn't got to yet. "From the ground up."

Quinn's expression gives nothing away, no hint to what she might be thinking. It's more than a little terrifying. "What if I'd said that I didn't love you?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation at all," says Marley, ignoring the pang in her chest. "We'd settle on something else – staying friends, going our separate ways. I'd get over you, but I'd always care for you."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Life is complicated. The future is scary and uncertain. That doesn't mean we have to be, too." Marley smiles wistfully. "I find it comforting to believe in uncomplicated absolutes."

"Do I get to think about my answer?"

"Quinn, we both know that if you have to think about it, your answer is probably not the same as mine, and you'd be coming up with ways to let me down gently. I don't want that to happen, and I'm guessing neither do you." Marley stands up straight, and looks straight into Quinn's eyes. "I just need your answer, straight from your heart. I'll accept whatever answer you give. I won't ask again." Her hands curl into fists at her sides, and she braces herself for impact.

"Yes."

"Huh?"

"Yes," repeats Quinn. "Yes, I want to try again. I want us. I want to believe we're better now, and that we have something that's worth fighting for."

Both of Marley's hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes instantly full with tears. "You're really sure?"

Quinn doesn't reply verbally, but she presses her lips together and gives Marley a quick nod.

"That's all I could ask for." Marley looks down to Quinn's hands, at her sides. She extends her right hand, palm-up between them, and looks back up at Quinn's face. "We'll figure everything out. Together. That's a promise."

The other woman nods. Her fingers brush Marley's.

* * *

"You _what_?!"

Marley winces, holds her phone away from her ear. "I said, Quinn and I – "

"I heard you the first time! That was me commenting on _you_! Ugh! This was your idea, wasn't it? Because I'm sure Quinn wouldn't dare suggest something as hare-brained as this within five minutes of meeting up!" rages Unique.

"I thought you would be happy for us!" Marley yells back.

"You spent a whole year getting over Quinn, and then when she shows up on your doorstep, you practically coerce her into getting back with you! I thought you were doing fine!"

"I _am_ doing fine! More than fine, even!"

Unique breathes heavily. "Alright," she says, in calmer tones. "Alright. Yelling isn't gonna solve anything. So. Let me get this straight. You broke up with Quinn because of a few issues, and the distance was one of them."

"Yeah."

"You spent a year getting over the whole breakup, moving on with your life, yada yada, in which you had zero contact with Quinn."

"Yes."

"Then she shows up at your door one fine morning, tells you she's moved to LA." Unique's tone becomes increasingly strident. "You tell her you're still in love with her, and you ask her if she still loves you, then you people get back together!"

Marley scowls. "It's not just like that," she defends herself, "we agreed to take things slowly, and figure everything out at our own pace. We know what went wrong the first time, we're not gonna repeat those mistakes."

"Babe, I love you, but this isn't a piano we're talking about here. Practice doesn't make perfect."

"We're both adults!" exclaims Marley. "We know what we're doing!"

"Calm down, Marl. I know you're way more rational than this; you're just upset."

"Of course I'm upset! My best friend, who – by the way – wanted us to get together in the first place, can't be happy for me!" Marley's throat tightens. "I'm in love with her, Unique; a year didn't change that."

"You _broke up_ with her."

"That was a mistake. I should never have let her go at all."

"Marley, will you just listen to me for a hot minute? I'm not saying that you guys getting back together is a mistake! All I'm saying is, the timing is shit! A whole year without speaking and barely a minute after you see each other again? You were putting her on the spot! _That's_ – "

But Marley, breathing hard, ends the call. She also switches off her phone, hand trembling, when it starts to ring again barely a minute later.

* * *

She and Quinn are together again.

She should be happy – this is everything she's dreamed of over the past year, even though she was convinced it was never going to happen. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that Quinn would still feel the same way about her; that she would also want Marley back, the way Marley has dreamed.

But she hurt Unique's feelings. After she's calmed down, guilt starts to prickle at Marley. Her best friend is right. She was so caught up in the excitement of everything that had torn them apart being fixed, that she hadn't stopped to think rationally about them.

Marley groans. So much for no longer believing love is the only thing they need in their relationship, and everything else can be worked on. She isn't as mature as she'd fancied herself to be, and it stings.

She'll need to apologize to Unique, but not immediately. Her best friend will need time to cool down, just as she needs time to mull over how sharp her words were. But most importantly, Marley needs to forgive herself first.

* * *

When she turns on her phone, there are a number of missed calls: from Unique (unsurprisingly); one or two from Brittany (expected); and one from Quinn.

Curiosity piqued, she calls Quinn back.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's me. You called?"

"Yeah. Your phone was off. Is everything okay?" Quinn sounds hesitant, and it sets Marley's internal alarm bells off.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just… my phone died, must've forgotten to charge it."

"Okay. Marley, is everything alright?"

"Yes! I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"Because," says Quinn, "we may not have talked for a year, but I do know that when you deflect like this, you're _not_ fine."

Marley huffs. "I could've changed."

"You're not denying anything happened, either."

She wavers. "Well…"

"Tell me what happened." Her voice is soothing, and Marley can feel the tension ebbing away.

"I told Unique about us," she admits.

"You – what?"

"I know I shouldn't have," she says, flushing, "but I was so excited and I wanted to tell someone. She wasn't happy because she said we were rushing into things, and I put you on the spot. Then I hung up on her."

"Marley!"

"I know!"

"I'm not mad," Quinn assures her. "I'm just surprised. You hung up on Unique? That doesn't sound like you."

"I know," she repeats, thoroughly chastened. "I was just… I wanted her to be happy for us, because I'm so, so happy. I was about to call her and apologize."

"Please do. She really didn't deserve any of that; she's only got your best interests at heart."

"I will." Marley curls up on her side, phone tucked under her ear. "Is is weird that I'm feeling simultaneously better and worse about the whole thing now? Like – I feel bad that I got upset with her, but I don't regret what we did."

"You're just biased. You already knew what you did wrong before you called me," replies Quinn.

"Yeah, but I know if something major had really happened, I could always get into my car and look for you," says Marley. "We're in the same city now. Just talking to you like this reminds me that you're not three thousand miles away."

"Mm." Quinn sounds distant.

"You sound tired. Am I keeping you up? I should be calling Unique now, anyway," Marley says hastily. "I didn't… put you on the spot, did I? God, I totally did," she rambles on without waiting for an answer. "Ugh, 'Nique was right, I wasn't being fair to you at all and you're probably dealing with everything on your own right now…"

" _Marley_ ," Quinn interrupts sharply. "Call Unique. Talk it out. Then call me back. Okay?"

"Okay," she says meekly.

"... hey. Listen to me. You didn't put me on the spot. I'm not currently freaking out, regretting anything, or repressing. Alright? It's been a long day coming for us both – a year coming, in fact. I went to therapy committed to being ready for whatever we talked about today – and whatever outcome." Quinn pauses. "But I'm still me. I'll need my time to, well, not be the emotionally constipated person I was for more than a quarter-century, and actually work towards expressing everything I'm feeling in words. I'll talk when I'm ready to – _actually_ talk, I promise."

"I trust you," says Marley. "You don't know how proud and impressed I am, and just so – _grateful_ , to hear you tell me all that."

There's a silence which Marley interprets as discomfort. "Go call her," says Quinn at length, her tone neutral, "and I'll talk to you later. Bye, Marley."

"Bye." She hangs up, not at all discomfited by Quinn's brusqueness, preoccupied with Unique and her apology. Marley sighs and dials the number.

Unique picks up barely two rings later with a terse, " _You_."

Marley tries her best to sound contrite – even though her best friend has a dramatic diva streak that could rival Rachel Berry's. "Yes. Me. I'm calling to grovel."

Unique snorts. "I'm waiting."

She takes a deep breath and releases it through her nose. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got upset because you wouldn't be happy that Quinn and I got back together. I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry I didn't hear you out even though we promised each other we would years ago. I'm sorry I hung up on you, then turned off my phone so you couldn't call me back and give me the verbal ass-whooping I deserve."

"You missed out being sorry for not calling me immediately after you stopped being a little shit," says Unique. Cattily, maybe, but Marley thinks she can detect a smirk.

"Yes. I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier. Honestly, I regretted it from the moment I switched my phone off," admits Marley.

"Fair enough," says Unique. "Now are you gonna listen to me?"

"You have my full attention," promises Marley. She sits up and pulls a pillow into her lap, nestling her chin into the plush material.

"For the record, I'm not against you two – never have been. The only thing that worries me is the whole rush. Like, for crying out loud – you broke up after about a year? Well, even with the long distance and all, you both seemed fine. Then you spent another year getting over Quinn – or so I thought," says Unique with a derisive snort, "because apparently not. You two get back in contact, and boom! Together again. Do you not see why this worries me?"

She sighs. "I do. I really understand where you're coming from, 'Nique, but I can explain. If you're done."

"I love you both, but you're also morons," huffs Unique. "Okay, done now."

Marley rolls her eyes. "Right. Thanks for that. Okay, so… I _was_ getting over her. I swear. But that doesn't mean I stop caring for her, you know; we were friends for years. I can't just stop because our relationship didn't work out."

"That sounds legit, but you weren't even friends, weren't you?"

"Not in any conventional sense, no," admits Marley. "And honestly, I was okay with that. I'd be fine if she never talked to me again."

"But then she showed up?"

"But then she showed up." Marley buries her face in the pillow. "And I was thrown. I was… I'm happy, 'Nique. Happier than I've been in a while. And yeah, I guess that's part of the reason I was so impulsive. I still love her, and she feels the same way about me; so… that's what happened."

Unique sighs, but Marley thinks it sounds considerably less aggravated then before. "Then you got back together."

"It's different this time; I know it. We know what went wrong before, and most of it's fixed now, or in the process. We're taking our time, taking things slowly, but together now. We're gonna figure it all out." She chews on her lower lip. "I know you think I'm being overly optimistic, or I'm setting myself up for more heartbreak, but… I believe her, 'Nique. If you could've seen her today, you'd understand. She's so different from the Quinn I knew before."

"Sans Puckerman, baby Beth, and Fabray family drama?"

Marley sighs. "I didn't ask."

"And that's why I worry."

"I know, babe. You love me, that's why you're being so hard on me and her."

"But even if you know all that, it's not stopping you," says Unique.

"... No."

Unique is silent for a moment. "Marley, you're an adult, and I'm not your mom. If you really want to do this, well… ain't nothing in the world that can stop you. But," she continues, "I've got my fingers crossed and hoping like hell that you'll get that chance to tell me ' _I told you so'_."

"Yeah. Me too," murmurs Marley. "I love you. Thanks for chewing me out."

"Love you too, you idiot," says Unique fondly.

She hangs up on Unique again – albeit on much better terms – and sprawls flat on her bed, arms and legs spread wide like she's trying to make a snow angel. Quinn was right, as she usually is; a goofy smile flits across Marley's face as she remembers she has another call to make.

But first: Marley's thumbs fly across the phone screen as she taps out a quick message.

 **done r u still up? can i call u?**

Her reply comes in while she's browsing her social media. _Yes._

Marley grins. "Hey," she says the instant the call connects.

"I'm guessing it went well."

"You were right, of course. I groveled, we talked it out."

She can imagine Quinn smiling. "Groveled."

"I messed up."

"Marley…"

"No, really; it was all my fault. She didn't deserve the attitude I was giving her." Marley smiles broadly, and stands up; she's read somewhere that posture can change the tone of one's voice, and she doesn't want Quinn worrying about her. "It's all good now."

"That's good to hear."

"I know you're not asleep – wow, is that the time? – but you'd better be ready for bed now."

Quinn doesn't reply immediately.

"Quinn?"

"I have some readings to do before tomorrow's lecture," she says at last, and Marley sighs.

"Fine. Don't work too hard, okay? Because I was thinking, if you've got no plans tomorrow evening, we could go to this food truck fair in town." Marley hesitates. "If you're also not too tired."

"I actually have a cocktail reception tomorrow evening," replies Quinn. "I can't get out of that; we've got some important people from a few institutions attending, and we're supposed to be mingling. Building a social network, all that stuff."

"Oh." She feels stupid. Of course Quinn would have plans; she actually lives and works in LA now. They may be in a relationship again, but that doesn't mean they're anywhere near getting back to normal. "Okay. Sounds fun."

"Those things usually do."

Marley sniggers. "Careful, Ms Fabray; one would think you didn't actually want to attend the reception."

Quinn laughs. "It's not that I don't want to. It's more like I can think of better things to do than to make very small talk with very rich people as I sip very fancy drinks."

"Okay, I have to admit that sounds a lot better now." Marley decides to push one last time before calling it a night. "Have fun. And if you decide to bail out early, or you feel like having something afterwards that's greasy and satisfying, you can always text me."

"I'll bear that in mind." Quinn yawns. "Sorry. I should get back to work. The sooner I'm done, the sooner I can sleep."

"Sure. Good night, Quinn." She swallows any further words she had wanted to say. It would have been pointless, in any case; Quinn had ended the call even before Marley had finished wishing her a good night.

She stares wordlessly at the phone in her hands. Marley can't help but feel as though Unique is more right than she's letting herself believe.

* * *

Frustratingly, Marley finds herself in another waiting game. It has better rules than the last one, honestly – back then, she was convinced Quinn wasn't even playing – but the waiting is always a killer. Even for someone as patient as she is.

Plus, she already has plenty of guilt keeping her grounded.

It comes as a surprise when she's at home, under her throw blanket with Hugo and a book, that her phone rings. "Hello?" she says, still distracted by her book.

"Hey."

Marley sits up, book forgotten. "Hi! Quinn! Sorry, I was distracted by my book. What's up?"

"I'm really not surprised," replies Quinn. "What are you reading?"

" _Love in the Time of Cholera_." Already she can feel the hot blush climbing up her neck. "I've been meaning to read Marquez for a while now, and the librarian suggested I start with that."

"Oh? I haven't read that one. Let me know if it's any good?"

"Of course I will."

Quinn clears her throat. "Um, before I get distracted, I was actually calling to see if I could still take you up on that offer of greasy and satisfying food."

"Oh! I – wow, I honestly wasn't expecting you would," says Marley with a little laugh. "Sure, let me just – I need to get dressed. Uh, do you want me to pick you up? Or I could give you the address and you could meet me there?"

"I'll meet you there," says Quinn.

"Sure. It's King's on Figueora Street, I can be there in twenty." Marley pauses, as it dawns on her that she doesn't know where Quinn lives.

"I think I can be there in about the same time. See you."

* * *

Hugo has this attitude when he's waiting for Marley to feed him; seemingly calm on the outside, but practically vibrating with anticipation under the surface.

She feels very much the same as she arrives at the diner two minutes earlier than she'd estimated. Marley picks a booth to the side.

"How many?"

"Two, please. My… _friend_ , isn't here yet."

The waitress either doesn't notice the hesitation, or doesn't care. Either way, she drops two menus onto the table and walks away. Marley occupies herself with flipping through the menu. She deliberately ate a light dinner in the hope that Quinn would call.

"Hey. You're early."

Marley peers up at Quinn. "Hi. I hope you're hungry."

Quinn's smile is grim as she opens her menu. "I am. Champagne and smoked salmon blinis are not an adequate dinner."

"Fancy, though."

She closes her menu. "I'll have a bacon cheeseburger. You?"

"Maybe the pancakes." The waitress returns, pad out to take their orders, and disappears behind the counter. She returns not long after with their drinks.

Marley eyes the steaming mug in front of Quinn with distaste. "At this hour?"

"I need something stronger. I've got to finish my lecture on Yeats for next week, which should have been done yesterday." Quinn drinks her coffee black.

Marley bites her lower lip, and makes no further comment.

"Is something on your mind?"

She glances sideways. "No?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Okay. Just wondering if you wanted to talk."

"Not really." Which is true, mostly. Marley _does_ want to talk; just not about the things Quinn thinks she wants to talk about. She hopes it's enough to get Quinn to leave off this line of questioning.

But Quinn says something surprising. "Then would you mind if _I_ talked instead?"

Marley's jaw drops. "No! I mean, I wouldn't mind at all. I'm just – surprised you would want to. Especially since it's been a long night for you." She shifts closer. "I'm always happy to listen."

"I couldn't help thinking about our conversation last night."

A soft sigh escapes Marley's lips. "Quinn, we don't have to talk about this if you're uncomfortable…"

"No, but I think we need to. If we're going to do this together." She sees Quinn's gaze flick to where Marley's hand rests on the table, and then back to her face. "What Unique said, about putting me on the spot… she wasn't wrong."

Marley's composure cracks. "What?"

"It felt that way for a little while back then," admits Quinn. "I didn't come to ask you for a second chance, because goodness knows where we were after so long apart. But you said you still had feelings for me, and… I wasn't expecting that."

"My thoughts exactly."

"So, I don't regret anything. I really don't. But I know it looks bad from Unique's point of view."

"I didn't intend on asking you, initially," says Marley quietly. "You have enough complicated relationships in your life, Quinn; I'm not going to be one of them."

"I know."

They both jolt, startled, when the waitress returns with their food.

Marley pokes at her pancakes, appetite gone. "I'll understand if you've changed your mind."

"Don't be silly. We know what we're doing this time, we've got plenty of time… there's no reason why we can't go about this in an emotionally mature and sensible manner."

Marley's face wobbles, and she laughs. "You sound exactly like my professor did. This job's perfect for you."

"My students don't seem to feel the same way."

"Yeah, I'm sure they don't."

Quinn focuses on her food. It falls to Marley to break the silence. "Tell me about your fancy party," says Marley. "How important were the people you needed to impress?"

"Oh, you know… university chancellors, deans, heads of institutes." Quinn picks up a fry. "The whole point of the party was to let us poor scholars meet the rich people who fund us, and to ask for more cash."

"And how'd that go for you?"

Quinn humps a shoulder. "Not so much of a concern for me; I'm only a lecturer. I was asked to go because most of these rich people are older men, if you get what I mean."

"... _oh_."

"Yeah," says Quinn with a grimace. "Sex sells, even in the upper echelons."

Marley mirrors her expression. "I'm glad you asked me out tonight," she says. "Hugo's just about as fun to hang with."

"I doubt that. At least he knows how to keep his hands – _paws_ – to himself."

Marley's frown deepens. "They touched you?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," says Quinn. "My boss made sure it didn't go too far, and she actually let me leave early-ish."

"That's good." She senses, though, that Quinn isn't as unaffected as she lets on. Marley decides to forgo serious conversation for the rest of the night. "I hope that cheeseburger turned out to be the highlight of your night," she says, pointing with her fork.

Quinn gives her a soft smile, gazing up at Marley through her eyelashes. It's one of Marley's favourites. "It's a close second," she says.

She'd almost forgotten what it was like, to have her heart flutter like that.

* * *

Her phone rings; cursing softly, Marley dives after her bag for it. She usually turns it off when she's working, but she must've forgotten this time.

Marley pauses when she sees the caller's name, frowning in confusion. It quickly morphs into panic after she realizes the phone continues to ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, Marley."

"Doctor C? This is a surprise. You don't really call – actually, you haven't called in a long time." Marley thinks back to the period in the early days of their professional relationship when the therapist was concerned enough about her that she called outside their sessions.

"I'm surprised myself; I wasn't expecting you to pick up so promptly. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

She tugs off her headphones guiltily. "Yeeeah. I forgot to switch my phone to silent. Luckily for me, we aren't recording today."

"I see. To get to the point, I'm actually in LA until Friday for a conference, and wanted to look you up. Perhaps meet for coffee, if you happen to be free."

"Oh! You're here!" Her face lights up. "That's – wow! Is tonight too soon? We could have dinner!"

"No, tonight will be fine. Dinner sounds good."

* * *

Though she'd struggled with whether she should bring her therapist to a less-than-classy place for dinner, Marley _did_ want Doctor C to try the famous milkshakes. She's rewarded with the unexpected but highly amusing image of the normally prim-and-proper therapist slurping a chocolate milkshake.

"These aren't supposed to be consumed neatly," says the older woman, reaching for her napkin. Marley hides her smile behind her straw, albeit poorly.

"Enough of staring," exclaims Doctor C with a laugh. "Tell me what's been happening. As a friend, of course; we aren't in a session right now."

"And I was busy saving everything that couldn't be put in emails for Christmas," replies Marley in that same light tone. "But I do have some major news. It's kinda good timing that you're here, because…" she hesitates, not sure how to frame her next sentence. "I have a feeling you won't like this."

As Marley talks, the amusement in Doctor C's face gradually fades, until all there's left is the neutral therapist's expression. Her last sentence is the tipping point that causes Doctor C's eyebrows to furrow. "Going simply by how you phrased that, it doesn't bode well."

"Hear me out? Not as my therapist, but a friend. Someone whose opinion I greatly value." Marley sends a pleading look her way; after what happened with Unique, she is considerably more apprehensive about what reaction to expect. "Quinn moved here. She's been working on herself, and she… we talked. I still love her, and she feels the same way about me, so… I got back together with Quinn."

Her therapist doesn't react outwardly. Her gray eyes assess Marley coolly. "I see," she says. "And?"

"And?"

"Is there anything else you want to add to that?"

Marley takes a deep breath. "Yes. I told Unique. I'd expected her to be happy for me, but she told me off."

"Ah."

"She's worried that we're going about this all wrong, that we're rushing, and that I pressured Quinn into it."

"Did you?"

"No!" Honestly, she'd expected that. It still hurts, though. "I would never do that to her."

Doctor C steeples her fingers in a classic therapist's pose. "How did you ask her?"

"It just came out. I told her I'm still in love with her," mumbles Marley, dread pooling at the bottom of her stomach. When the older woman sighs, Marley adds: "We both intended to find closure. I would have been perfectly fine never seeing her again, you know that – regardless of whether I still love her or not."

"I think Unique and I share the same concerns," is all the older woman will say. She reaches for her milkshake.

Marley sighs. "I know. I didn't expect you to be fully on board with this, either. I'm only telling you this because you've been an important part of my life for so long, and…" Marley squares her jaw, lifts her chin to look Doctor C in the eye. "Quinn is my life."

"... I see."

"I'm not asking for your blessing, or even your approval; I knew I wouldn't get either. But I'm okay with that. I have to grow up some time, y'know?" Her eyes prick with tears. "I want to do this. It's on me if everything blows up in my face, but… I'm ready for that. I can make my own mistakes."

Doctor C nods, her expression still stony. "Marley, I've been your therapist for a long time. Although we've kept our relationship professional, I do admit that I've viewed you as a daughter of sorts."

Marley's eyes widen in surprise.

"I've watched you grow from a child into a woman any mother would be proud to have as their daughter." The therapist folds her hands together, placing them on the table. "I'm quite certain you already know what I'm going to say, and where it's coming from – and that nothing will stop you or make you change your mind."

Marley nods.

"Then I won't repeat those things," says Doctor C firmly. "Most importantly, I'm here as your friend now, and not your therapist. I want the best for you, but I'm not obligated in any way to guide you towards what _I_ think is best for you."

"I've always appreciated your advice," blurts out Marley.

Doctor C graces her with a soft smile. "But ultimately it's _your_ life, Marley," she continues, "and you'll have to make your own decisions sometime." Her therapist's eyes crinkle at the sides. "I'm not saying that there'll be a time you can't ask anyone for advice; what I mean is that you _shouldn't_ be asking."

"I know."

"Even though it seems a bit ironic to be drinking milkshakes as we talk about adulthood," she adds.

The weight releases from her stomach spontaneously. Marley laughs, light and genuinely happy. "I debated taking you to a more grown-up brunch place, but the milkshakes are so worth it."

"I'm glad you decided to bring me here." Her therapist continues to look at her – not disapprovingly, Marley can tell; a hint of a smile lurks in the lines of her mouth, like it did when Marley told her about the time she got rid of a guy that wouldn't stop pestering her for her number by giving him Santana's instead, at the older girl's suggestion.

It gives her confidence that she may be going about this entire adult thing the right way.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Chasing Pavements_ which was originally by Adele; but for the purposes of this fic, it's the cover version sung by Melissa Benoist (Marley) of course :)


	16. Part Fifteen

**Author's Notes:** The usual thanks to **Mike** the Americanizer, proofreader of over-enthusiastic commas, and operator of the fine-toothed comb of language. Any mistakes left are wholly mine.

* * *

 **Part Fifteen:** _nothing is as bad as it seems, we'll come clean_

* * *

As she used to before, Marley gives Quinn her space. She sends the occasional text sharing some funny anecdote from her day, sometimes photos of Hugo doing something cute. The two subjects converge more often than not; she really has no self control when it comes to her grumpy old man.

Quinn always replies; not always promptly, but sooner or later Marley gets a text back. Even something as simple as a 'lol', or a smiley face that makes Marley grin, or – once – a cute animal picture of her own.

It helps that she's going into this prepared. Marley has her new hobbies that help her to stay out of her old habits: Her Lakers hat starts to show a little wear-and-tear. She's almost a match for Brittany on the dance floor. It becomes an unwritten rule that Quinn doesn't accompany her on her home decor expeditions. She becomes familiar enough with LA's food trucks that she can write a guide of her own, much to Finn's delight.

Most importantly, Marley's content. Perhaps she's not incandescently happy like Jane Austen would describe it, but she's happy enough with how her life has turned out so far…

… well, if she could get rid of this giant invisible wall between her and Quinn, then it would be perfect.

* * *

It's rare that Santana video calls her, and rarer still that Marley has no idea what occasion would warrant that. "Oh, hey, Santana," she says warily. She pats down imaginary fly-away strands of hair.

"Rosie, my girl, have I got news for you." Santana looks and sounds completely at ease.

"Uh, okay?" She transfers her phone to her other hand, sitting properly on the couch.

Santana makes a dismissive sound. "Don't sound like I'm gonna say something bad. It's good, I promise."

"Alright. What is it?"

"Did Rachel ever mention this little workshop thingy she'd got cast in, by Eggy St Thames?"

She frowns. "Eggy? Do you mean Jesse?"

"Bless you."

Marley's frown deepens. "And yes, she _did_ mention that in passing," continues Marley.

"Good, good. So, Messy's funding search went through, and the musical's opening off-off-Broadway." She takes a breath, and when she next speaks, her voice has taken on the tension of a person held at gunpoint. "Rachel's quit being bargain bin Jasmine to star in this one, and – I don't know, maybe she likes your face or something – she'd like you to be there on opening night."

Marley squeals. "What. Wow! That's just – oh my God, I'm so happy for her!"

"At least one of us is," grunts Santana.

"Speaking of which, why are you so grouchy?"

"'Cause I'm calling Finnessa after you."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Mind you, I only agreed to do it because Rach is calling Q-bert _and_ Britt."

Marley feels cold. "Wait. You're inviting Quinn?"

"Well, duh, My Little Lunchlady," drawls Santana. "She's only Rachel's best friend and the reason for the permanent footprint in my lower back where she dug her heel in during the good ol' days of the Cheerios pyramid." Santana's mocking tone relents a fraction. "Why, aren't y'all good? You two are unbroken-up now, right?"

"We are," says Marley. "I just… I don't want her feeling pressured into spending more time with me than she wants to."

"Newsflash, Rosie: she's not there for you. She's gonna be there for Rach because my girl is one step closer to that Tony she's been dreaming about since she was a squirt in a turkey baster."

Marley makes a disgusted face.

"Anyway," continues Santana, "Quinnie'll use her grown-up words to tell you to buzz off if she decides she doesn't like your face as much as she used to. She's not a puppy." A pause. "Though, she _is_ a bitch."

"Hey. That's my girlfriend you're talking about," says Marley, low and tight.

"Whoa, hey. Hawt." Santana dramatically clutches her chest. "Protective baby Rose does things to me. If only you'd come around a couple years earlier…"

" _Santana_."

"Okay, okay. Got it. Jeez, it's weird when anyone other than Rachel does that," she mutters, sounding distinctly unrepentant. "I'll be good. Anyhoo, it's a fucking Glee family production, so you is not allowed to bail out. Hummel had a hand in costume design, and yours truly made sure the songs didn't suck so hard."

"Really? I – wow, I wasn't expecting that." Marley adjusts her grip on her phone.

"So you're coming?"

"Of course I'll be there. When is it?"

"Saturday, the fifteenth of August. Eight PM."

She does a quick mental calculation, and finds it to be three weeks away. "Okay. I'll note that down."

"Good to hear. Okay, so I have to call Mr Pyramid Nipples now…"

" _Santana_ ," she growls.

"You're not fooling anyone, Rosie. I know you're not actually offended, because he _does_ have pointy – "

Marley pinches the bridge of her nose. "Please don't finish that sentence."

"– fine. Man, you're like one of those baby bunnies they dress up with vampire fangs and claws in memes; you're not actually threatening."

Just as she's spluttering and searching for the words that won't come, Santana rolls her eyes and says: "Alright! I'm hanging up now before you have a coronary or something, and Q murders me. Later." And she terminates the call before Marley can respond.

* * *

It's Quinn to contact her first this time, and Marley knows it's because of Santana (and indirectly, Rachel). Nevertheless, it's Quinn reaching out first since they – _reconciled_ , in spite of the general lack of enthusiasm from the people around them. Marley takes it as a good thing.

She answers the phone with, "Did Santana call you about Rachel's show?"

"Hello to you, too," responds Quinn a little dryly, and Marley blushes hot.

"Oh. Sorry. Hi. I guess I got a little carried away back there."

"It's fine." She can almost hear the smile in Quinn's voice. "But to answer your question, yes. That's what I'm calling about, as a matter of fact."

"Okay." Marley holds her breath.

"I was wondering if you'd made any travel plans," says Quinn.

"Um. Sort of?" Marley spent her lunch break browsing flights on her phone, and thinking about places to stay. She's still deciding between asking to stay with Rachel and Santana or her old housemates, or booking a hotel room; she tells Quinn so.

"Okay. I was wondering if you'd want… if you'd consider booking a hotel room with me." Quinn sounds hesitant, and Marley doesn't blame her; she's feeling amazed that one of them has finally broached the subject, and it wasn't her. "I looked up the theater, and it's pretty far from Halley and the boys' place. And as much as I love them, I don't think I would want to stay with Rachel and Santana."

This surprises Marley. "Oh? Why not?"

"Rachel's always been… high-strung. Especially before a premiere. I can imagine that she's going to be unbearable to live with."

Marley pulls a face. "Oh. Yeah." Though she's certain the mental images her brain is producing are exaggerations, Marley does recall the college years and the stories she's heard from Quinn and Santana. "You might have the right idea."

"Hey, are you alright? You sound a little… on edge."

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm fine," says Marley.

"Let me guess. Santana?"

"No…?"

"Marley." Quinn's voice changes to what Marley's privately dubbed her 'teacher voice'. It works.

"Okay, maybe I let her get to me a little," says Marley, sliding lower in her seat.

"That's not like her," says Quinn. Marley can hear the frown in her voice. "She's mellowed out a lot lately. Are you okay?"

Marley lets her sigh escape slowly, in a soft controlled exhalation. "It's not – it doesn't really have anything to do with Santana," she confesses. "I was thinking about us."

"... Oh."

"She asked about that and I didn't really have an answer for her, so – yeah," finishes Marley lamely. "That's about it."

The silence that follows is impenetrable and more than a little intimidating. Marley clears her throat, and starts: "I'm sorry – "

"Are you – "

They both break off. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," says Marley.

"No, you didn't – I was only gonna ask if you had plans tonight."

"Uh, no. Not really."

"Okay. Good, because I don't think this is a conversation we should be having over the phone."

Marley swallows. "Yeah. Uhm. You're right."

* * *

The little Italian place is something she wouldn't ordinarily try on her own, but Marley knows that it's the kind of place Quinn likes. She arrives about ten minutes earlier than planned, but to her surprise Quinn's already there.

Quinn lifts her head, gives her a warm smile and little wave. "Hey." She has a menu in both hands, which she abandons in favor of giving her fullest attention to Marley.

"Hi." She pulls out a chair, sits down. "I was worried I'd be too early."

"Nah, you're fine. I had a light day today, otherwise I wouldn't be this early." Quinn props her elbow up on the table, her chin resting lightly on the back of her hand. "Sometimes I like lecturing better. I was supposed to have office hours, but no one showed up. So no issue if I closed up half an hour early."

The small talk makes Marley's teeth ache. Quinn seems to sense her discomfort, because she hands Marley a menu of her own. "The chicken alfredo's really good," Quinn says, "and they also have chocolate lava cake," she adds with a smirk.

It stirs a memory which makes Marley smile. "I'll pass. I've got no one to eat my spaghetti for me." She dares lift her gaze to meet Quinn's, and holds it. Marley hopes the longing in her eyes isn't too obvious.

"I miss her already," says Quinn.

"Yeah, me too. Do you think she'll be at Rachel's show?"

Quinn tears her eyes away to glance down at her menu, a wistful smile tugging at her mouth. "If it's kid-friendly, then I imagine Shelby wouldn't be able to say no to Rachel. Definitely."

The waiter hovers nearby. They give him their orders and he takes their menus, promising to be back soon with their drinks and appetizers.

Quinn sighs softly. "So, New York."

"New York," echoes Marley. She smiles ruefully. "I guess the question now is whether we're sharing a hotel room or not."

"Marley, I don't want you to feel awkward or uncomfortable…" hedges Quinn.

"The same goes for you, Quinn. Things between us are still kinda shaky, and – I want you to have your own space. If you know what I mean." Marley makes a vague gesture which morphs into a shrug halfway through. "I – god, I'm still so bad at this. I'm really hoping you know what I mean, because I feel like I'm gonna mess up a further explanation."

The corners of Quinn's eyes crinkle into a smile. "I do. You're fine."

"Okay. Good," says Marley, relieved. She mirrors Quinn's smile. "That's great."

"We've made it this far. I think we can handle a weekend in New York together," Quinn says with conviction.

The firm way she says the last word makes Marley's insides turn over. "Yeah. You're right," she says, not meaning it at all.

* * *

"Okay, so." Marley claps her hands together. "I have to get going in three minutes, so I'm just gonna run through everything one last time."

Gabe eyes her dubiously. "Oookay," he says, but gets up from her couch.

She bustles around her house, talking non-stop. "Hugo's kibble is here." Marley opens a cupboard door. "He likes it if I mix in a little wet food, but he can't have that everyday. On weekends he gets a bit of shredded boiled chicken breast and egg, but not too much; I've prepped enough for the weekend, it's in the little Tupperware containers in the freezer – "

"Marley," interrupts Gabe, as patiently as he can. "I know. We've gone over all of this twice already." Hugo, who's wandered over to investigate all the bustle, walks over to him. He bends to give Hugo a pat. "We'll be fine. Couple of bachelors having a weekend in."

She reluctantly relaxes into a smile. "I know. You're right. I'm just – I've never been apart from Hugo this long since getting him." That's only part of the reason for her anxiety, but Marley isn't about to go into details. "Right. I have to go, I'll miss my flight." Marley crouches down to address her dog. "Bye, my handsome man," she croons, rubbing his ears, laughing when he noses her hand. "Behave for Uncle Gabe, alright? Mommy'll be back before you know it."

Hugo whuffs at her. She kisses the top of his furry head and straightens up, brushing off her hands on her jeans. "Right. Uh. If you can't reach me, I have my friends' numbers – "

"– written on the neon pink Post-It stuck on the fridge," finishes Gabe.

"And – "

"– in case that falls off and Hugo chews it, you've sent me a photo of the list. Yes, Marley," he says to her incredulous expression, "I was listening when you told me. Twice." He smiles beatifically.

"Uhm." She blushes. "I guess that's my cue to go, then."

He nods sagely. "We'll be fine," he reassures her. Gabe follows Marley to the front door, scooping Hugo into his arms along the way. "Bye Mommy!" he says in a comically high-pitched voice, waving Hugo's paw at her.

Marley makes a face. "I regret this already. You're gonna teach my son terrible things."

"Naw. Never. Hugo, tell Mommy she's wrong." Gabe switches to his Hugo voice. "You're wrong, Mommy."

She rolls her eyes at them.

* * *

It's a blessing of sorts that they aren't alone for the entire trip to New York. Initially, Marley's glad for Brittany's company in keeping Quinn occupied and out of her shell, but that changes sometime halfway through.

She feels horribly awkward watching Finn and Quinn interact. Marley knows they talk – for lack of a better word. She knows they've gone out for drinks once or twice; they're both mature adults, keen to repair what was a rocky relationship as teenagers. But Quinn still looks so unsure of herself, so on edge around a doubly-awkward Finn, that it tears at Marley's heart.

They're all seated in a row on the plane, with the aisle separating Quinn and Finn – _appropriate_ , Marley thinks. They've broken off their slightly-awkward conversation about LA food culture and Quinn has her eyes closed, seemingly relishing the quiet.

Brittany shoots her a look when the other two aren't looking, as though to say _what are you waiting for?_

Marley pulls a face right back. _Huh?_

Brittany's eyebrows do a complicated waggle. _You know what to do_.

She does. But God help her, she doesn't have the courage to follow through. Marley blows out her bangs and lets her attention wander to Quinn. Her hand rests, palm-up, on the armrest between her and Quinn. It used to be their thing, in the early stages of their relationship, when Marley wanted to initiate physical affection but was unsure of whether Quinn wanted the same.

But this time, she doesn't wait.

She keeps her eyes fixed on Quinn's left hand as she takes it from Quinn's lap. Marley threads their fingers together, thumb stroking the side of Quinn's hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Quinn's eyes open; Marley smiles at her.

Marley's smile widens when the hand in her grasp relaxes fully, before curling around her fingers. Brittany grins at them both from across the aisle.

* * *

She'd let Quinn get dressed first because she has a book that's a couple of chapters from the end calling her name, and Marley has been trying not to die of anticipation the entire day.

When the bathroom door clicks open, she's halfway through the nail-biting ending – which is completely forgotten when Marley looks up.

Quinn – who has always been perfect in Marley's eyes – looks stunning in a simple black dress. Her blonde hair is up in a chignon that shows off her neck.

"What do you think?" asks Quinn.

"Beautiful. You look – you're always perfect," says Marley in a rush. Her eyes don't leave Quinn.

Gradually, she notices the colour suffusing Quinn's pale cheeks. Quinn smiles shyly, says: "Thank you," and the spell breaks. She crosses the room to check her phone; Marley's treated to a glimpse of creamy shoulders, exposed by the low cut of the dress – and the faint trace of a scar. She finally manages to tear her eyes away, blushing just as hot.

Her book's fallen shut, her page gone. Marley doesn't care.

"We've got about two hours before we need to be at the theater," says Quinn.

"Oh. Okay." Marley stands up. "I probably should – you're done with the bathroom, right?" she asks, gesturing in Quinn's direction.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's all yours." She sweeps up her dress, clearly taking care not to wrinkle it, and sits gracefully on her bed.

"Okay. Okay, good. I'll just…" Marley busies herself rummaging in her suitcase for her things. She's blushing hot, aware that she's making a fool of herself.

* * *

Marley examines herself in the mirror critically. She wasn't sure about the emerald-green dress when she'd bought it, in spite of Unique's assurances that it was perfect for her. She doesn't normally wear dresses; she's half-convinced that she's done something wrong, and she looks like a kid playing dress-up. She has a simple silver necklace that she was told would go with the dress. Her hair is down because she has no clue what to do with it.

She raises a foot and eyes her shoe critically. The heels are too high; she should have put her foot down (literally and figuratively) when Unique insisted they made her outfit perfect.

Speaking of Unique, where is she when Marley needs her? Marley sends off a quick text, and resumes pacing the bathroom, wobbling slightly, regretting not seeking a second or even third opinion.

 _Chill wmn_ , her best friend finally texts back, _I cnt make it. Drew's tied up w/ work (dumbass kids u kno how it is). We'll c u guys the theater_

Marley tries not to scream. She looks terrible in a dress that doesn't suit her, her makeup's all wrong, and the only person in the world she cares about looking good for is sitting outside. She rubs at her face, trying and failing to keep her anxiety in check.

 _Breathe,_ she tells herself. _You've made it this far._

Her exercises help. When she can finally breathe normally, Marley decides she's not doing herself any favors hiding in the bathroom; Unique isn't going to swoop in and save her, and she doesn't want to keep Quinn waiting.

If she plays it cool, hopefully Quinn won't notice how self-conscious she's feeling and comment on it. Marley gathers up her things and exits the bathroom, head held high. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she says breezily, crossing the room in quick strides, mentally crossing her fingers. "We should get going or we'll be late; you know how anal Rachel can be about punctuality."

While she's folding up her clothes and dropping them into her suitcase, she doesn't hear anything. Marley slowly stands up and turns around to see Quinn staring.

"Quinn?" She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, thinking really, really hard about not biting on her lower lip.

Quinn starts, and blushes. "Sorry. I – You look lovely, Marley." Quinn stands up. "That dress really suits you. Is that new?"

Marley blushes instantly; so much for playing it cool. "Thanks. I, uh, I got it the last time Unique was in town; you know I can't pick dresses for myself."

"Maybe, yeah," agrees Quinn with that soft half-smile of hers. "But you always look so good in them anyway."

The blush intensifies until Marley's half-convinced her brain's too overheated to think of a reply, but luckily for her Quinn doesn't seem to be waiting for one. "So, uh." Marley waves her hand between them, smiling weakly. "Theater?"

"Yeah. Theater." Quinn finally looks away as she gathers her things.

* * *

The show's due to start at eight, but Rachel asked them to come a little earlier so they can visit backstage before it starts. (She and Santana hadn't mentioned asking the same of Finn and Brittany, and Marley thinks it's for the best.)

The stage manager, an affable man named Marcus, lets them in. Behind the curtain is a riot of color and noise that is immediately nostalgic. Girls in colorful costumes hurry to and fro, caught up in the flurry of last-minute preparations and mini-crises. Stagehands in black go around with clipboards in hand, walkie-talkies buzzing. And a man strides through the entire mess over to them, parting the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

"Quinn Fabray," he says grandly. He spreads his arms, gives them a little bow. "I'd recognize that impeccable bone structure anywhere."

"Jesse," returns Quinn, much less grandly. Marley can tell that she's fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. "Congratulations."

He smiles, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, no need to offer your congratulations yet. Save them for afterwards along with your inevitable praise." Jesse's attention turns to Marley, and he holds out his hand. "And you must be Marley? Rachel mentioned you'd be the stunningly beautiful brunette with Quinn."

She blushes and takes his hand, at a loss for a verbal response – and almost squeaks in surprise when he lifts it to his lips. "A pleasure," he says, and drops Marley's hand.

Quinn glares at him. "Where's Rachel?" she asks with a pinched smile. Jesse doesn't seem to hear, initially; he flags down a passing stagehand to exchange a few words before returning his attention to them, still smiling widely. "Rachel's in her dressing room." He jerks his thumb back over his left shoulder. "You should go say hello; I'm sure she'd appreciate that. Perhaps you'll find Santana there as well. She's gotten rather good at hiding, as she's been finding herself on Rachel's bad side rather frequently these days."

"Yeah, sure. See you later." Still looking murderous, Quinn reaches for Marley's hand and she tows the younger woman away; Marley lets her. "Was he always like that?" Marley dares to ask once they're safely out of earshot (which is not very far away because of the general chaos), still flustered both by Jesse's forwardness and Quinn's sudden possessiveness.

Quinn snorts. "If you ask me, he was a lot worse when we were in high school. Puck suggested we go key his car and punch him in the face after he egged Rachel; I kinda regret not taking him up on that offer now."

"Uh, okay." She has more questions; but for now, she's happy to have Quinn's hand in hers, and Quinn leading her in the direction Jesse indicated, steering them through the tangle of people and costumes. She smiles back at Quinn as she knocks on the door labelled 'Rachel Berry'.

"Come in!" yells a familiar voice.

Rachel has her back towards the door when they enter. "Kurt, sweetie, it's about time you got here."

"Wrong best friend," quips Quinn.

She whips around. "Quinn! Marley! I'm so glad you guys made it!"

"Yep, I think she might be happy to see you," drawls Santana. She gets up from the couch in the corner of the room to join them.

Rachel turns her head to shoot her girlfriend a filthy look.

"Hi, Rach," says Quinn. She makes an 'oof' noise when the force of nature that is pre-performance Rachel Berry envelops her in a hug. "Break a leg tonight. Not that you'll need it; you've got this."

There's a knock; a head pops in. "I can hear Satan in here. Rachel Berry, I have my eyes closed, you'd better not be doing anything mentally scarring."

"Shut up, Kurt; Quinn and Marley are here!"

His face lights up instantly. "Quinn! Oh my god, it's so good to see you," he says, dashing over to kiss Quinn's cheek and hug Marley. "Long time no see, Marley."

Rachel latches onto Marley after Kurt, leaving him free to hug Quinn. Quinn tilts her head in Rachel's direction. "She's been impossible, hasn't she?" she says over Kurt's shoulder, addressing Santana, who cackles.

Kurt uses the makeup bag he's holding to swat at her. "Don't be mean. Rachel's taken a lot of responsibility for the show's success on herself."

"What Hummel meant to say is she's been such an absolute joy and light lately that we've taken to calling her the Beast," adds Santana.

Quinn snickers. "Not to her face, surely."

"You kidding? I like _my_ face the way it currently is."

"I can hear everything you're saying, guys; I _am_ right here," says Rachel from Marley's shoulder. And yet, she sounds unbothered as she gives Marley a little squeeze before letting go. Rachel spins on her heel. "Rest assured, I am a professional and will deal with you both later," she shoots at Santana and Kurt, before sticking her head out the door and yelling for Marcus.

"Rachel, what are you calling him for?" asks Kurt. "I have your bag here. The one you asked me to bring to you? Remember?"

"We've got some time before curtain. I think I should go over the stage directions one more time." She frowns. "I don't think he can hear me. I should go look for him. Enjoy the show, guys!" Rachel leaves.

Kurt groans softly. "Rachel, you've gone over the list five times already so far _today_ ," he says, taking off after her.

Quinn glances over at Santana, who's still leaning casually against the dressing room table, arms folded over her chest. "I'm surprised it's not you saving everyone from Hurricane Rachel," she drawls.

Santana shrugs. "Kurt thinks Marcus is cute. That's one less person I need to worry about protecting from Berryzilla." She looks at Marley and smirks; Marley narrows her eyes at her. "It's good to see you bitches. Where are you staying?"

"Park Central."

"Nice. Very nice," nods Santana; her eyes light up suddenly. "Can I come stay with you?"

"Uh…"

"No," says Quinn flatly.

"Come on. I'm only half-joking; the Beast is a terror to live with." Santana's voice drops. "We don't even have sex anymore. She just wants me to rehearse with her. In bed." She gives a theatrical shudder.

"You're a natural. I'm surprised you aren't part of the cast." Quinn says dryly.

As if cued to the conversation, Rachel's head pops back into the room. "Santana, if you're quite done socializing," she says pointedly, "I could really use your presence preparing for the premiere of this musical that _you helped create_." Rachel turns to them and says brightly: "Later, be sure to tell me if I was brilliant, or simply outstanding."

She follows it up with a cackle as Quinn rolls her eyes. "God, Berry."

 _Help me_ , mouths Santana. She turns her back to Rachel and mimes death throes.

" _Santana_ ," says Rachel impatiently, folding her arms.

"Don't be such a wuss. You secretly love this, and you love her," says Quinn, giving Santana a shove. "Go do as your woman says." The shorter woman glares daggers at her before disappearing.

"They're ridiculous," says Quinn, shaking her head.

Marley smiles. "It's cute, though."

"Cute? Really? Were we looking at the same people?" Quinn laughs. "We should really go look for our seats now. Do you have the tickets?"

"Yep." Marley fishes them out of her purse. They had insisted on paying full price for their tickets – over Rachel's protests. She also checks her phone. "Oh, the others are here."

"Let's do this, then."

Perhaps it's from being reunited with her friends, but Quinn seems more relaxed; her eyes shine, and she's far more tactile around Marley – more like the old Quinn.

Marley decides not to overthink things, but to enjoy the moment instead.

* * *

The show is amazing, and really – was she expecting any less? Marley's always known Rachel is brilliant at what she does, but this production proves that she and Jesse together are a force to be reckoned with.

The night's not over yet; they have an after-party to attend. Marley double-checks the address on her phone, frowning. "This is the right address…" Beside her, Brittany's practically bouncing in excitement as muffled music reverberates through the walls.

She walks in and blinks in surprise. "This is…" Marley trails off as she attempts to take in the entire place. The normal decor seems to be a classic Fifties' American roadside diner, but it's been decorated with an unhealthy amount of glitter. "Wow," she adds, as a waitress roller skates past them.

"This is the perfect place for a New Directions party," declares Brittany, already dragging Finn over to the jukebox in the corner.

Holding court at the bar is Rachel herself, adorned with a pink feather boa. "Guys! Over here!" she yells, waving them over. "Thanks for coming! I know you must be tired after coming all the way from LA, but Jesse throws the _best_ parties."

"Uh, no prob, Rach," replies Quinn. She looks discomfited by the amount of glitter in their surroundings. "Congrats again on your show. You were brilliant, outstanding, and all the superlatives."

Beaming, Rachel opens her mouth to say something else, but the waitresses have suddenly burst into song, and she swells excitedly in her haste to join in. Marley glances at Quinn, sees her panicked look mirrored there, and wordlessly tugs her to the corner of the restaurant.

Quinn shakes her head. "This is insane," she says with a little laugh, sinking into a booth.

"And so Rachel."

"Very Rachel," she agrees. Back in the middle of the fray, Jesse's pulled Rachel up on to the stage (and of course there would be a stage, this is a party with Rachel Berry in attendance) into a rousing (and dramatic) duet of _Don't You Want Me_ ; Marley and Quinn exchange looks and laugh.

"I'll bet Hugo's monogrammed raincoat that this is the highlight of Rachel and Jesse's night, and not the show," says Marley.

"I'm not taking a sucker bet," shoots back Quinn. "Also, seriously? He has a monogrammed raincoat?"

"Unique spoils him."

" _There_ my bitches at." Santana emerges from the crowd, three beer bottles in her hands. She hands them one each, and takes a deep draught from her own. "This is a good place to hide."

"Shouldn't you be up there, singing a duet with your girl?" asks Quinn, bumping Santana's arm.

She scowls heartily. " _No me gusta_. Do you see the amount of glitter over there? It's contagious, I swear. The only way I'll be willingly going close is if I'm drunk off my tits first."

"Charming."

"You're forgetting that my ex, and my girlfriend's ex – who are dating each other – are also at this party. I have my fucking right to get stumbling drunk practically written in the Constitution." Santana giggles suddenly. "Before you give me your half-assed sympathies, Q, we're all good. We had a cozy dinner last night because Rachel needed 'closure before moving on to the next stage of life' or some shit like that."

"And how did that go for you?" asks Quinn.

"We all got shit-faced. Someone lost their shirt." Santana frowns. "I don't remember much after that, really. Rach said it's better I don't ask."

The song ends. Before Marley can respond, an excited Rachel appears at Santana's elbow, flushed and grinning, Jesse not far behind. "Sorry. When the stage calls, one must answer," says Rachel breezily. "You have drinks! Wonderful. I have more drinks." She sets the bottle of champagne she was carrying on the table; Santana snags a champagne flute from the table behind them without missing a beat, and hands it to Rachel, who fills it with champagne.

Quinn looks horrified; Marley stifles a laugh. "Your show was amazing, Rachel, and you were fantastic," she says. "Congratulations."

Jesse smirks and wraps an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Naturally. It's a pity Rachel decided whatever brief spark we shared couldn't be rekindled. Imagine us as a couple; we would have taken Broadway by storm years ago." He squeezes Rachel's shoulder. "By now, you'd be giving that Tony acceptance speech you've been writing since sophomore year."

"Yeah, no. That never happened and is never happening, so… hands off, St Flames. Find your own impressionable starlet." Santana peels his fingers away, hip-checking him and replacing him with her own body, squeezing into the booth as well. Rachel huffs but doesn't seem to mind the show of possessiveness; she presses her chin into Santana's shoulder, smiling.

Jesse, on his part, appears completely unbothered. He beams at them all, dusts off his jacket, and excuses himself to mingle.

"I can't believe you used to date him," grouses Santana. "He's such a…" She makes a rude hand gesture.

"To be fair, you used to taunt me in high school," Rachel says serenely, "and look at us now." She kisses Santana's cheek, grinning when it reddens.

"Whatever." She steals a sip of Rachel's champagne.

Quinn clears her throat. "God, I thought the college years were bad enough. You never do grow up, do you, Lopez?"

"Surely not as much as you," drawls Santana. "Look at you, Lucy Q; all out of the closet flying your rainbow flag from every rooftop." She jerks her chin at Marley, smirking obnoxiously.

"Pot, meet kettle."

Rachel rolls her eyes at them both, throwing her unoccupied arm around Quinn. "Guys, maybe not tonight? We should be celebrating! Not just me, but everyone; Kurt's costumes are wonderful, and Santana, your music is so good." She lifts her champagne flute. "We've done pretty well for a bunch of Glee kids from Ohio – well, for you guys. Stardom and my eventual takeover of Broadway was kind of inevitable for me."

Santana snorts in an unladylike manner. "As was that ego of yours, Streisand," she says, but clinks her beer to Rachel's glass.

Marley watches her friends interact with an easy smile on her face. She's happy just being like this, surrounded by the people she loves.

"Babe, you look _gorgeous_. I don't know what you were freaking about earlier."

"Unique!" she says happily. The mood she's in is too good to be spoiled by the memory of being upset that Unique was late. Marley squirms out of the booth (no mean feat, with four people sitting in a space designed for two) and throws her arms around her best friend, then Drew in turn. "I didn't see you guys come in."

She snorts. "We snuck in during intermission and sat in the back. Don't tell Rachel."

"Your secret's safe with me."

("I can hear you! Why does everyone think I can't? Just because I'm vertically challenged, that doesn't mean _I'm not here_ ," exclaims Rachel hotly. Santana barks a laugh and pulls her away to talk to more of their friends.)

"Hi, Unique. Andrew," says Quinn warmly – but only Marley notices the waver in her voice. Her hand finds Quinn's. "It's good to see you both."

"Likewise, Quinn – it's been too long," agrees Unique. She opens her arms to Quinn, who gratefully returns the hug.

Marley finds herself feeling nervous. It's the first time Unique and Quinn are seeing each other since she'd gotten back together with Quinn, and – despite knowing them, she's terrified. She just wants the two most important people in her life to get along.

Which they are, as Quinn answers Unique's insistent questions, and Drew lets himself get dragged into the conversation about students and how each generation gets increasingly degenerate.

"And how are you, babe?"

Marley tips her head to the side, letting it rest on Unique's shoulder. "I don't know," she admits. "Tired, confused. Stuck in this weird place."

"Oh, baby." Unique strokes her back. "It'll be okay."

"I don't know," she mumbles. "You had your reservations, and I… what if everybody's right? What if I've been pushing this for the wrong reasons?"

"Marley, I'm not you. I'm not stupidly in love with that girl; you are. And I know you; if you've been fighting this hard, there's something special about her." She pats Marley's arm. "Never mind me; you got this. Like you always do. Okay?"

"... Okay."

Somewhere in the background, Santana has taken the stage in the corner to belt out a very intoxicated version of Sara Bareilles' _I Choose You._ It doesn't stop Rachel from whooping and catcalling her from the audience. It's a bizarre backing track to the seriousness of their conversation, but like most things in Marley's life, she takes it in her stride.

* * *

Quinn is a giggly drunk.

It's a revelation, given that she's never actually seen Quinn properly wasted. Tipsy, inebriated, various other synonyms for being lightly intoxicated, yes… but Quinn Fabray is very much intoxicated. Marley's been told she's a bubbly drunk, annoyingly so. But Quinn is a giggly drunk, and currently hanging off Marley's arm as she steers them through the lobby of their hotel.

Marley sighs fondly. It's ironic that their positions are reversed, but she really doesn't mind, even though she's tipsy herself; she couldn't very well refuse _all_ the drinks, and the few toasts to the longevity of the show. And of course there was Noah Puckerman and his habit of offering drinks to girls…

Quinn makes a soft grunting noise. "I haven't let myself get this wasted in a while," she mutters into Marley's shoulder, following it with a giggle.

"What?" Marley misses the last part because she was focused on pressing the right button for their floor (and ignoring the hand Quinn has on her upper arm, rubbing the heated skin there).

She repeats her words, syllables slurring together. Marley sighs and brushes Quinn's hair away from her sweaty forehead. "Clearly with good reason. We should get back to our room and you can sleep it off, you drunkard."

"Mmhmm. Home."

The lift dings. "Nope," says Marley, deadpan. "Wow, you're really drunk." She steers them through the corridor and stops outside their room.

"I guess." She giggles. "This is fancy." Quinn toes at the carpet.

"It's our hotel room. Remember? We don't live here in New York anymore?" asks Marley, bumping the door open with her hip, guiding Quinn in, and bumping it shut again. Marley huffs, thinking she should get an Olympic medal for all the feats of athleticism she's performing while drunk, and giggles.

Quinn nods. "Yeah. Not _that_ drunk."

Marley simultaneously loves and hates the fact they got one room but twin beds. "I guess this one's yours from now on," she says, easing Quinn onto the bed closest to the door with a soft sigh, adding: "You're gonna regret this tomorrow," in a stern tone that has no real bite. "Oh, crap, wait, your contacts!"

"Took 'em out earlier," mumbles Quinn. "Knew there was more champagne headed my way." And she rolls over, grunting something that sounds like _'Puckerman'_ into the pillow.

"Oh. Good." Marley sits down to catch her breath.

An arm wraps around Marley's middle, hand splayed over her midsection. The air whooshes out of her lungs in surprise. "Quinn? What are you – " She cuts herself off with a moan when the hand slides upwards. " _Quinn_."

Hot breath tickles the nape of her neck. "Marley," says Quinn, voice suddenly clear.

"Quinn. Don't." But Marley's eyes close. She tips her head backwards, lets herself melt into Quinn. It's been far too long since… anything, honestly. Her hands bunch the material of the bedsheets, neither stopping nor returning Quinn's advances.

"Missed you. So much." The words tumble onto Marley's goose-fleshed skin.

"... I've missed you too," she admits. Only because Quinn is drunk and probably won't remember any of this in the morning, and she's tired of pretending she doesn't – her train of thought comes to a shuddering halt when lips ghost the back of her neck.

"Want you," mutters Quinn in between open-mouthed kisses, hot breath caressing Marley's skin.

She closes her eyes. "I… we can't. Not like this."

Quinn murmurs her name in a low voice that has Marley aching with want. But she manages to turn in Quinn's loose embrace, curl her fingers around Quinn's shoulders, and create a safe distance between their bodies. "I should let you sleep."

"Marley…"

"Quinn, you know we can't. Not like this. We can't complicate things any more than they already are." She refrains from elaborating because it's apparent that Quinn isn't in any shape to be listening. "Wait here," she says, and goes to her suitcase. While she's retrieving the things she needs, she fumbles her other accessories off inside, to be dealt with at a later time.

When she returns, Quinn is still sitting up, back against the headboard. Marley sits on the bed and Quinn's body automatically gravitates towards her warmth.

Marley places a bottle of water in Quinn's lap and wraps the fingers of her right hand around it. "You need to take some aspirin before you sleep." She lifts Quinn's other hand, palm-up, and presses two pills into it, closing her fingers around them.

Quinn obediently swallows the pills and drinks her water. Marley waits until half the bottle is gone before tugging it out of Quinn's hand. She removes Quinn's necklace and shoes. "Lie down," she says, pulling the comforter up, urging Quinn into bed. Quinn complies, eyes closed the entire time. "Good night, Quinn."

"Marley."

Her tone is plaintive. Against her better judgement, Marley answers. "Yeah?"

"Stay with me?"

It's just a request, but Marley chooses to ignore the question mark. "Okay," she whispers, kicking off her shoes and climbing under the covers with Quinn, who hums contentedly and curls into Marley's body.

This is… everything Marley wants, but can't let herself have. Holding Quinn like this lets her pretend that they've gone back in time and a future together was something Marley could let herself dream of. She screws up her eyes and buries her face deeper into soft blonde hair.

She can't go on like this.

* * *

Marley wakes before Quinn. Her chest aches with nostalgia; Quinn draped over her, head nestled in the crook of her neck, one hand wrapped around Marley's middle. Just as she's contemplating what to do, she feels Quinn stir.

Quinn's body slowly stiffens. "Marley?" she mumbles tentatively.

"Quinn – "

But she's disentangling their bodies, hastily enough that the comforter is knocked askew, looking everywhere but in Marley's direction. "Sorry," says Quinn, "I'll just…" Quinn disappears into the bathroom, leaving Marley to sit up and wonder what happened.

When Quinn emerges, she gets dressed without another word, and otherwise acts like nothing happened. Marley takes that as her cue to follow suit.

It's not until Marley tries to leave the room when Quinn steps in front of her. "What happened last night?"

Marley's teeth press briefly into her lower lip, confused by Quinn's erratic behaviour. "Uh, we had a lot to drink last night," she says. "We managed to make it back here in one piece to sleep it off."

Quinn's expression is like stone. "Is that all that happened?"

"What do you mean, is that all?"

"I didn't… _do_ anything?"

Marley shakes her head. "Of course not. We were both too drunk for that. I'd never start anything, and you and I both know that's not something you do."

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Marley. We both know that you can't tell a lie to save your life."

"Then why ask?" Marley persists.

Quinn runs a hand over her face. "I was hoping we could be honest with each other."

"I think last night was the most honest we'd been with each other in a while," says Marley quietly. She sits on the bed before her knees give out. She's told Quinn that she's bolder now, but it's still taking a lot of courage for this conversation.

Quinn follows suit, mouth thinning as she presses her lips together, and says nothing further.

"How much do you remember?" Marley asks.

"I – most of it," answers Quinn, clearly uncomfortable. She sucks her upper lip inwards. "I remember – touching you. You holding me." Her ears are red.

"You told me that you missed me," says Marley.

"I was drunk."

"I know." She tries not to sound as disappointed as she feels.

Quinn glances at her. "You can say whatever's really on your mind. I'm not made of glass, I won't break."

"I… Honestly, I wouldn't know where to start, even." Marley gives a tired laugh, fingers twisting and untwisting in her lap. "It feels like I have you, but not really. We're neither here nor there. Friends but something more; together, but you can't even look me in the eye most days. I love you, but sometimes I look at you and wonder if things would have been better if I hadn't pressed you into giving this another try."

Quinn lets out a shaky breath.

Marley notices. "Quinn… this doesn't mean we've failed," she says. "If we had, we wouldn't be here together right now, talking about this."

"If this isn't failure, what is this? What are we doing?"

"I don't know," she says, and the raw honesty tears her throat. "I don't know anything anymore, Quinn. I don't recognize the people we've become when we're together. Everything's so complicated, and the only thing that keeps me going these days is the simple fact that I love you – and that's enough. That _has_ to be enough." Her mouth twists. "When did we let us get this complicated?"

"I hope you meant that as a rhetorical question."

Marley lifts her chin. "What we feel for each other hasn't changed, and I don't want to go on pretending it has. This morning, when we woke up… Quinn, it hurt when you thought I didn't want that."

She gets no immediate reply. Quinn has her eyes shut. Shoulders bowed, looking as if she'll crumple inwards any moment.

"Quinn?"

Silence.

"Talk to me," murmurs Marley. "I can't help but feel like there's something more you're not saying."

Quinn's lips part, but no sound comes out. Marley waits.

"When I left, that day," Quinn's voice cracks a little, "I thought… in the end, my mom was right. That I'm not capable of having normal relationships."

She doesn't dare speak. But she grips the bedsheets hard enough to wrinkle them.

"But she was wrong. And you're right. I've grown so much. I… I have friends. I have people who care about me. Every bit of me." Quinn stumbles a little over her words. "But I'm still scared."

"It's okay to be scared. I was scared you'd say no to starting over," admits Marley. "I was scared you wouldn't give me a chance to show you that I'd grown into someone who deserves to be with you. Mostly, I was scared you would run. Quinn – what you said, about me deciding that I wasn't good enough for you – I couldn't stop thinking about that."

"I was hurt," says Quinn. "All I could think about was trying not to screw it up, and it felt like everything was crumbling in my hands. So I lashed out. I do that, all the time."

She finally rests her hand on Quinn's knee. "I can't promise you everything will be perfect. I can't say that either of us are perfect, or going to be; we've made mistakes. We'll definitely say or do things that'll hurt the other's feelings. I know _I_ have." Marley's teeth press briefly into her lower lip as she chooses her next words carefully. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I want you to trust me again. I," she falters, "I know that I don't really have the right, but…"

"Marley," interrupts Quinn, "do you know why I said yes to starting over with you?"

"No…?"

"I don't trust easily – especially when I've been hurt before." She pauses. "But, Marley, you're the only person whom I would trust unconditionally, over and over again."

Marley's eyes well up.

"When I stopped to think about that, I realized… being with you changed me for the better, even when we were just friends," continues Quinn quietly. "You helped me make peace with my past – all of it. I would have never been able to confront my mom without you. I would never have been able to have the relationship I have now with Beth; even with Puck, or Shelby. I learned what it was like to let my walls down and someone in. But more than that; from you, I learned what intimacy truly means: it's not simply letting someone in. It's trusting that someone with everything that's inside."

The tears spill over before Marley can stop them. "Hey," says Quinn, her thumbs brushing at them, "no crying. This is a good thing."

"They're happy tears." Marley kisses Quinn's knuckle when it lingers close to her cheek. "I want you to know that you mean everything to me," begins Marley, "and you've been a huge part of my life even before we became something more. I've never felt so sure about anything or anyone else before. And because of that – I underestimated what intimacy meant to me. And you. Our first time… I admit I wasn't in a good place. I was anxious about my future, our future… as well as being irrationally jealous of Rachel. In hindsight, we probably could've chosen a better place or time, but I don't regret it."

Quinn's eyes widen; her lips flatten into a thin line.

"I don't regret a single moment of it," says Marley firmly. "Never. I was twenty-two and the closest I'd gotten to sex before that point was sitting in a hotel room Jake Puckerman booked for us." She snorts. "Everyone talked about how sleeping with someone was the next natural step in a relationship, of being with someone. And I thought, that would be it for me. That was how I was gonna show that someone that I was committed." Marley pauses. "But I was wrong."

Quinn blinks.

"I believed physical intimacy was real intimacy. But with you, I learned that it was feeling comfortable enough to decide when and where I'd give everything. Before, when I first started therapy," continues Marley, "I was never direct. I'd make excuses for people, if forgive them anything. Everything that went wrong was never their fault. Doctor C taught me not to moderate myself, but… I only had the courage to do that outside therapy very recently." She sits up straighter. "Quinn, I didn't feel like I had to give everything. I _wanted_ to give you everything."

Quinn gives her a watery chuckle. "Come here," she says, shaking her head, holding out her arms to Marley.

Marley gladly buries her face into Quinn's neck, hoping that it will muffle the embarrassing sounds she's making. She holds on, not daring to let go, feeling warm and safe wrapped up in Quinn's arms. "Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"What have you got planned for today?"

She frowns. "Nothing much. We're all flying back later this afternoon, remember? Today's Sunday."

"Don't go home today," says Marley quietly.

"What?"

Marley – reluctantly – extracts herself from Quinn's arms. Her heart pounds in her ears like it hasn't since she was younger. "Spend the day with me," she says, taking Quinn's hands in her own, "there are a few places I want to visit before we go home, and I… I'd really like it if you'd come with me. We can reschedule our flight to tomorrow, call in sick to work."

Quinn just looks at her for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, she asks: "What about Finn and Britt?"

"They'll understand." Their friends have been involved with them from the beginning; Marley feels like this day should be theirs alone, as it should have been from the start. When Quinn continues to stare blankly, not saying anything, Marley deflates. "... Never mind. Forget I asked."

"No, wait." Quinn reaches for her phone. She dials a number, and waits, expression neutral. "Hello? Jim, it's Quinn," says Quinn into the receiver when the call connects, "I'm afraid I won't be able to come in tomorrow. Something's come up… yeah. Yeah, I know. I'll reschedule when I get back. Yes, sure. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."

And now it's Marley's turn to stare, not daring to smile or react in any way.

"I trust you," is all Quinn says.

* * *

First stop, Defonte's.

Marley sneaks glances at Quinn throughout the entire cab ride out to Brooklyn. If Quinn was surprised when she told the driver their destination, she doesn't react outwardly.

 _Help,_ she texts Unique. _Quinn + me nt going home tdy. Explain ltr_

She hadn't thought everything through when she'd asked Quinn to stay, half-expecting Quinn to turn her down. But she hadn't, and here they were. Marley shoves her hands into her pockets to force herself not to fidget when they enter the little sandwich shop – then jumps when her phone buzzes in her palm.

 _got u covered bby. Luv u gd luck xx_

Unique's reply gives her the jab of confidence she needed to do this. "I've missed their roast beef and avocado," blurts Marley. It was the first thought to enter her head.

Much to her relief, Quinn laughs softly. "Really? LA is the city of food trucks, and you haven't been able to find one comparable to Defonte's?"

"Oh, have you taken up that pastime as well?"

"Finn always gets so excited when talking about food trucks. It's hard not to pick up a few things." She places her order with the man behind the counter. "Actually, he was talking about going to look for some New York food places today. He said something about Rachel giving him a few recommendations."

Marley keeps her eyes fixed on the man making their sandwiches, watching him slice the loaves and layer ingredients inside. "I think about that day, sometimes; when we were moving your stuff, and you brought me here." Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Quinn now watching her. She pretends not to notice. "I was in the bad place in my head and I didn't know how I got there. I don't remember anything else except the feeling of being overwhelmed, and then you getting me out of that loop."

"Marley."

"It's not a bad memory for me anymore because of you," she asserts. "That's part of the reason why there's nothing like Defonte's sandwiches in LA." And Marley smiles, because Quinn's fingers are curled around her pinkie. She leans her head on Quinn's shoulder. "I remember you saying something about things not having to be complicated? I don't remember exactly what; I only remember you said it because I found it to be such an ironic statement coming from you…"

She can't really see Quinn's expression from this angle, but she does hear the soft huffing sound, and feel the brief pressure of Quinn's lips on her temple.

"You know what I remember from that time? Those early days of our relationships always seemed so rushed. Like we had a deadline hanging over our heads, the days ticking off."

Marley nods into Quinn. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, I'd feel like we didn't have the time to let us develop at a natural pace; like our milestones were triggered by drama."

"What is a natural pace even, anyway?" And she can hear the laughter underlying Quinn's voice, matching it with a giggle of her own.

Marley shakes her head. "I wouldn't know; I'm not exactly an expert at relationships. But I'm thinking… Dates. Casual ones, not just the kind where we dress up and go out for dinner. Pizza at someone's house, coffee on Saturday afternoons. You accompanying me to pick up my mom's birthday present, me surprising you with tickets for this movie you've been wanting to see for weeks but never found the time to go." She smiles. "Don't get me wrong; I've loved everything we did together."

"Me too," says Quinn. "Though now that you mention it… we've had way too much drama for one relationship."

"Honestly? I thought it came with the territory for dating Quinn Fabray." Marley stirs when their order number is called. They bring their food to a small table in the corner.

Quinn looks lost. "Marley…"

She could kick herself for ruining the mood. "I hope you're not gonna apologize or something like that. Starting over, remember?" Marley follows it up with a smile over the top of her sandwich. "Plus, we've only just started our date."

"Our date?"

"Yeah."

"Is this what it is? Alright," says Quinn. She ducks her head, but it does nothing to hide the smile spreading over her face.

* * *

Marley hails another cab, this time instructing the driver to head to Washington Square, New York University. At this juncture, Quinn doesn't even give her so much as a raised eyebrow. Marley doesn't elaborate; not until they've pulled up outside the building.

She leads the way. They pass through the campus, weaving through students and tourists, and come to a halt outside the main building where Marley spent most of her undergraduate years.

This time, Quinn initiates physical contact; she loops her arm around Marley's waist and pulls her in. Marley's heart lifts.

"This makes me think of the beginning," she says. Her hands are still in her pockets, and she glances up at the building. "When we met back in Lima, and I thought I wasn't going to see you again because you were in Yale, and I was heading here."

Quinn glances at her, but doesn't say anything.

"I didn't know you were in the city so often. I enjoyed every second of the time we spent together. And when you chose Columbia for grad school… it made me happier than I could say." She drops her gaze, smiling at the memory. "That was probably when I started falling for you, only I didn't know what it was until later."

"That long ago?"

Marley laughs. "I said probably. You're the first and only girl I've ever been with, you know. I didn't have any prior experience or frame of reference."

Quinn turns a little pink at that. "I wish I could say the same for you."

"It doesn't matter, honestly."

"I suppose," says Quinn dubiously.

She leans into Quinn's side in lieu of a verbal response.

* * *

The Medusa exhibition is long gone, but they go to the Museum of Modern Art anyway because it's one of Quinn's favourite places. "I haven't been here in a while," she says. Quinn wanders over to a large canvas as though approaching an old friend.

Marley trails after her. She stands a few paces away, hands in her pockets, just watching Quinn admire the artwork. Somehow, Quinn looks lighter, younger; as though a weight's been lifted off her shoulders. A warm glow suffuses her.

They turn a corner and Marley has to bite her lower lip to prevent a giggle. "Is that…?"

Quinn turns back and regards her, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, it is."

Marley takes in the painting, a smile lingering on her lips; she can feel Quinn's eyes watching her, waiting for something. "It's pretty. For a Caravaggio."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Still the same terrible sense of humour."

"Still the same old me," asserts Marley with a smirk.

Quinn's eyes soften. "And I couldn't ask for more," she says, coming closer.

Marley refocuses on the painting. Her cheeks feel heated; it's amazing how her girlfriend is so adept at turning the atmosphere on a dime. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Be so adorable all the time." Maybe adorable isn't exactly the word she's looking for, but vocabulary is difficult when Quinn is this close.

"Like you aren't?"

"You're a biased party."

"Mm. So I've been told." There's the feather-light pressure of a kiss to her cheek, and then Quinn moves away. "Come on. There're plenty of other new works I want to see before we go on with your tour."

She follows, still dazed. She'd forgotten how much she'd missed flirty Quinn and her banter until now.

* * *

Central Park is crowded, even for a summer afternoon on the weekend. But they've both lived in the city for years, and it doesn't take them too long to find a relatively isolated spot.

Or at least, for Quinn to find a spot. Marley is unabashedly giddy, too preoccupied with Quinn to be of much help.

The grass underneath the tree prickles the underside of her legs, even through her jeans. Marley stretches her legs and lets her head tip backwards against the tree trunk, staring up into the foliage. "I didn't know how much I missed this until I did."

"Yeah." Quinn follows suit; Marley watches her out of the corner of her eye. "So, what insight have you got for me here?"

She laughs a little. "Not much. Just… I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for reaching out to me that day," murmurs Marley.

Quinn's fingers brush Marley's cheek. "Oh, Marley," she breathes, "you have, every day since." Marley's eyes flutter shut when the feather-light touch moves to the corner of her mouth.

"Why me, though? Why then?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know. I just felt that you were hurting, and that someone needed to say something." Quinn withdraws her hand. "There was a time I would have left it at that, but… that wasn't me anymore. I decided I would be that person who said something."

"And I'm glad someone did; but most of all, I'm glad it was _you_ ," says Marley.

Quinn doesn't say anything, until –

"Oh," says Marley quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's not because of what you think it is," insists Quinn. She presses a kiss to the palm of Marley's hand. "It's – god, I wasn't expecting all this when you asked me to spend the day with you. Marley, you're – you're the most inspiring person in my life. Just when I think I can't love you any more than I already do, you just say all these things, and I – god." She laughs softly. "Honestly, that was the last thing I'd ever have expected you to say. But I'm grateful for it."

"Me, too."

Quinn's silent for a long moment. Marley's afraid she's said too much, but something in those inscrutable hazel eyes spurs her into taking the next step.

She crawls forward. The first touch of skin on skin doesn't burn any less than it did last night. Quinn's breath escapes in a jagged little sigh.

"Tell me to stop," whispers Marley, "and I will." Her fingers rest on the curve of Quinn's cheek.

"… I don't want you to stop."

So she doesn't.

Quinn hums into the kiss. Marley only notices because she's hyper-sensitive to everything Quinn, but the sensation of soft lips moving against her own is pretty darn distracting.

Marley pulls back. Quinn follows. Hands cup the sides of her neck possessively, and Marley loses more of the little composure she had left.

She remembers how Quinn likes to be kissed; butterfly pecks in between longer kisses. Fingers in her hair, teasing and tangling silky blonde strands. The occasional playful kiss to the end of her nose – which Marley does, causing Quinn to wrinkle it. The familiar sight makes her smile.

Marley darts a surreptitious glance to their surroundings; they're secluded enough that she feels bold enough to continue. She crawls into Quinn's lap, rising enough on her haunches so she's leaning down into Quinn. Both her hands are cupping Quinn's face now, holding her steady so Marley can kiss her again and forget about the world around them.

Quinn gives a soft whimper. One of her hands has settled on Marley's back, keeping their bodies close.

"We should… stop," mumbles Quinn. "For now."

"Maybe." Marley plops back on the grass, sitting on her heels like a kid – but not without a last quick kiss. She knows she's grinning goofily, but she doesn't feel inclined to do anything about it.

"You look like Christmas came early."

"Well, it did," declares Marley. Much like a horny teenager, she's already thinking of excuses to be kissing Quinn again. Immediately. "You have no idea how happy you've made me."

The corners of Quinn's mouth quirk up, and she rests her hand on Marley's. "I think I might."

She misses being wrapped up in Quinn. "Can I…?"

"Hmm?"

Marley moves closer. Her knees nudge the inside of Quinn's legs, opening up a space for her to sit between them. Quinn's arms meet over Marley's middle, urging her backwards to rest against Quinn's body; her hands rest over Quinn's. Marley grins goofily, letting her head fall back on Quinn's chest so she's looking up at her, framed by a leafy green halo. "Hey."

"Hi."

She swallows, throat suddenly dry. "I love you."

Quinn goes pink – even though she's smiling brightly. She leans down, and whispers her answer in Marley's ear, ending her sentence with a kiss to the side of her head.

Marley's smile turns incandescent.

* * *

"What's gonna happen now?" Quinn's voice is small in the silence of the dark room.

Too comfortable to move, Marley rubs Quinn's elbow; the part currently under her right hand. "We take it one day at a time. That's all we need to do."

"You make it sound so easy."

She smiles. "It's a gift," says Marley. She snuggles closer, tightening her grip on Quinn and dropping a kiss into tousled blonde hair.

After a while, Quinn speaks. "When I was younger," she says, "I wrote stories. Those that I remember seemed to be about an ordinary girl who realized she had incredible powers one day, and she used them to save the world." She smiles; Marley can feel it on her skin, where Quinn's face is pressed into her neck. "I'd write them on paper I tore out from writing books, and I'd make my own illustrations for them."

"Did you keep any of them?" She wonders what's the connection, but decides not to ask.

The smile falls. "No. My father found them one day. He tore them up and threw them out; he disapproved of me writing. Said that I'd grow up to be some penniless and starving artist-type."

Marley licks her lips. Quinn rarely mentions her father. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not, because screw him anyway. I got pregnant at sixteen and so much for the rest of that life plan he'd made for me." Quinn's breath tickles her skin. "I don't think I've seen him since the day he kicked me out."

She's apologized countless times, for everything Quinn's survived. She would, again, but she knows it's not what Quinn needs anymore. Instead, Marley runs her palm up and down Quinn's upper arm, squeezing to remind Quinn she's here and safe.

"Lucy did a lot of stuff like that. She used to fish worms out of puddles on rainy days."

Marley's heart melts. "I'd stand on the sidewalk protecting snails from being stepped on."

Quinn smiles. "Lucy would have loved you."

"And I would have loved to meet her." She drops a kiss on the exposed skin of Quinn's shoulder. "You know… it's kinda funny, don't you think? That you and I had our own problems with food?"

"I wouldn't call that funny. More ironic."

"Well, _I_ think that it means we were meant for each other," declares Marley. "Like fate, or destiny."

Quinn jerks her head up to stare at Marley, eyebrow arched. "Fate? Really?"

"Otherwise I'm at a loss to explain how perfect this feels. How happy I am, right now." She kisses Quinn because she can. "Since we're talking about our childhoods… when I was in third grade, I used to dream about marrying Elvis because he could sing and dance at the same time."

Quinn laughs indulgently. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"You must be kidding. I think I did one better, you're a veritable triple threat." She tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind Quinn's ear. "Not to mention being incredibly gorgeous; _way_ better than Elvis and his pelvis."

She hums. "Nice save."

"Kid me would have dumped Elvis for Lucy in a heartbeat," says Marley innocently. "Just saying."

Quinn barks an incredulous laugh, but kisses Marley immediately after.

* * *

Marley wakes to unwelcome grey light; it's a reminder they have to get back to real life, but she feels invincible. She smiles contentedly to herself, and rolls over. "Quinn," she murmurs, peppering kisses on Quinn's face. "Wake up."

"Mmmph." Quinn's not a morning person; especially not after the night they've had. But she stirs and blinks awake. "What time is it," she grumbles, rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand.

"Early."

Quinn makes a noise of displeasure. "Go back to sleep," she groans, rolling away from Marley and burying her face in her pillow.

"Nah," replies Marley. Quinn's movement exposes her back to Marley, who delights in letting her fingers trace lazy patterns over bare skin. "Already awake."

"Morning people," grouses Quinn, still sleep-befuddled and out of it. Still, she rolls flat on her back, trapping the questing hand beneath her, and smiling up at Marley. "No. Don't kiss me. Morning breath," she says, shaking her head.

"I don't care." Marley cups the back of Quinn's head and kisses her; Quinn puts up a token protest before eagerly melting into her. "I love you."

Quinn just shakes her head, seemingly exasperated; however, her eyes tell a different story. She pecks Marley's cheek and climbs out of bed to disappear into the bathroom.

Marley flops back down. Her phone's dead – likely from all the missed calls and texts. She's gonna be in so much trouble with everyone she knows but she's not bothered at all. Marley has nothing to do while waiting for Quinn, so she decides to start being a responsible adult again. She fumbles around for the shirt and shorts she was wearing – at some point – last night; she finds the shorts but not her shirt. She finds Quinn's shirt, though, and just shrugs, pulling them both on.

Marley plugs her phone into the charger and watches it light up. There are a few missed calls and texts, naturally; from Finn, Brittany, Unique, Gabe… even the airline. But it's hardly the avalanche that she'd expected.

The most recent text is from Unique and says simply: _took care of everyth. Hope u fixed ur shit w/ ur girl_. There's an email as well, with a timestamp of a few minutes after the text, with two e-tickets to Los Angeles and a _make sure u dont miss this one_ from Unique.

Marley smiles gratefully. She dashes off a quick reply, and leaves her phone back on the table.

Quinn emerges from the bathroom in a fluffy white bathrobe, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. She looks mildly panicked. "Oh my God! Britt'll be wondering what happened to us."

"It's fine, Unique explained everything to them. She also took care of our flights and stuff, so… we're good."

"... Is that my shirt?"

Marley blushes. She hates how she keeps doing that around Quinn. "I couldn't find mine!" she protests.

Quinn suddenly grins at her around the toothbrush. "No, you know what? Keep it. It looks better on you," she says, and disappears back into the bathroom.

"I was planning to, but we still have to find my shirt," Marley calls after her, "I don't wanna leave any surprises for housekeeping." She starts circling the room and scooping up things. Her belongings sail haphazardly into her suitcase, Quinn's onto the bed.

She calls Unique.

"Heyyy," says Unique. She sounds vaguely smug. "All good?"

"Yeah. Got your email. Thanks for everything, 'Nique."

"'Least I could do." Her voice softens. "You take your time. Tell me everything another day, yeah?"

"Of course," she says, around the sudden lump in her throat.

* * *

"You're quiet."

Marley turns her head to smile at Quinn. "Just happy. Also, you know; I'm really liking this whole… going home together, thing. Flying home to LA _together._ "

"Me too." Quinn gifts her one of those shy smiles that melt her heart; Marley kisses her temple and molds their hands together on the armrest between their seats. "You know what I'm looking forward to? All those dates you mentioned."

"I haven't forgotten," answers Marley, heart skipping a beat.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _Just Give Me A Reason_ , originally by Pink and Nate Ruess. But y'all may have guessed that I'd have the Glee cover featuring our girl Quinn and her baby daddy Puck (personally, I'm picturing Quinn and Marley singing their own version).

And with that, the story is more or less complete! There'll be an epilogue coming, of course, but this is officially the last chapter. If you're reading this, thank you for joining me on this crazy rarepair journey and giving Quinn and Marley a chance.


	17. Epilogue

**Author's Notes:** It's finally complete. Oh god. Grateful as always to **Mike Ownby** for his clean-up work and turning a shit ending into a great ending ( _and_ talking me into something else – he's been busy). The rest of the notes can be found at the end.

* * *

 **Epilogue:** _tell the world that we finally got it all right_

* * *

"How do I look?"

Quinn scoffs. "You look as beautiful as always. Now _stop fidgeting_." She catches hold of Marley's hands to stop their nervous tic.

Marley lets out a high-pitched giggle. "What if I don't win?"

Quinn fixes her with a look. "You're going to win." It softens a fraction almost immediately after, and she teases a loose wisp of hair from Marley's cheek. "But I honestly couldn't care less if you win or not; I'm already so proud of you for being nominated tonight." She kisses the spot where the hair had rested unhurriedly; her lips linger, making Marley's pulse race.

"But _I'm_ not really being nominated; it's for a song on Trent's album…"

"A song on Trent's album which you wrote, and were given _sole_ songwriting credit for in the album," says Quinn dryly.

"Well, yeah, but…"

Quinn interrupts her nervous rambling with a kiss. Marley's lips part, mouth suddenly dry, train of thought gone. But just as she's starting to melt into Quinn, her girlfriend is pulling away. Marley thinks she may be aware of the effect she has; but the little smirk is gone in the next instant, and the only part of Quinn in contact with her is their hands.

"Come on, we'll be late. They won't hold the award for you when you win."

" _If_ I win," Marley corrects her.

Quinn gives her her best Head Cheerio smile. " _When_ you win," she repeats, eyes glinting with conviction.

Marley rolls her eyes playfully, and lets herself be led outside.

* * *

"This is pretty nice," comments Brittany. Her head swivels left and right, taking in the other people streaming into the hall.

Gabe slouches in his seat. "It's no Grammys, that's for sure."

Trent groans and leans forward, smacking the back of Gabe's head.

"Ow!"

"Personally, I think it's great that Marley's finally getting the fame and recognition she deserves," says Trent.

"Trent, you're nominated for an award yourself," mutters Marley. "Has it slipped your mind?"

He shrugs. "I've had my turn in the spotlight," he says loftily, and Gabe snorts. "It's about time our dear Rosie gets her day."

Finn nods. "Yeah, totally." He turns in his seat to flash Marley a cheesy grin and a thumbs up. "You got this."

She smiles back weakly. Her stomach hasn't felt this unsettled since she was much younger, and wracked with guilt over eating too many calories in a day.

A squeeze of her hand brings Marley back to reality. "You're fine," Quinn reminds her. "Breathe, baby."

Marley exhales – or more accurately, the air whooshes out of her in a surprised gasp/laugh. "Did you just call me baby?"

Quinn laughs. "Yeah. I did." She pats Marley's cheek affectionately. "Baby."

"I – wow. I don't know what to say."

"Please don't tell S. Or Rachel. I'll never hear the end of it." Quinn gives her a sheepish little smile. "I'm still a bit shocked I said that, even."

Marley stares at her.

"You looked like you were gonna pass out from nerves earlier, sweetheart. Anything to distract you, right?"

"Anything, huh?" she chuckles.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I can _see_ what you're thinking, and no. I wasn't thinking of _that_ , you pervert. You're terrible." She ducks her gaze.

Marley laughs easily. "Takes one to know one." Her fingers entwine with Quinn's, and she brings their joined hands to her lips, kissing the back of Quinn's hand.

The emcees take the stage, and it reminds her that they're in public. At an awards ceremony. Where she's probably, maybe, taking an award home tonight. And most importantly, she hasn't thought about any of this for the past ten minutes because she'd been focused on Quinn.

Shaking her head, Marley leans forward to peck Quinn on the cheek. "Thank you."

"What's that for?" she asks, smiling softly.

"Oh… nothing. Everything. I don't know." Marley returns her attention forward, deliberately oblivious to Quinn's gaze.

* * *

There is a short period of silence as the words sink in; Marley remains perfectly still.

Then Quinn's whispering urgently in her ear, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek in her excitement. Finn's clapping with an enthusiasm normally reserved for when the Lakers win. Trent's on his feet, urging her up.

Marley lets him pull her onto her feet and gently point her towards the stage to accept her award. She doesn't remember what happens next until she's clutching the deceptively-heavy trophy in both hands and doing her best not to trip as she leaves the stage.

Trent grabs Marley around the waist and kisses her on the cheek. "Congratulations."

She pushes at him, laughing. "It's your song!"

"No," replies Trent, uncharacteristically serious. "It may be on the album that we wrote together, but only _Virtue_ won Best Song, Marl. And _you_ were the one who wrote _Virtue_ solo." He smiles. "It's all you."

Marley looks down at the trophy in her hands. "I… it's still hard to believe this is happening."

"Oh, it's happened." He kisses her cheek. "Enjoy it, sweetheart. You've earned this." With a gentle push, Trent propels her towards her waiting friends, and straight into Quinn's arms.

"I won," Marley tells Quinn.

Quinn presses a kiss to her forehead. "I knew you would."

Laughing, she hugs Quinn tight, mouthing _I love you_ into her neck.

* * *

The glass trophy sticks out of Marley's purse as she makes her way back to the car. Quinn trails behind her, an amused expression on her face.

"The first award you've ever won – and it's for the Best Song from the Los Angeles Music Awards – and you shove it in your purse," says Quinn.

"I need both hands free for driving," quips Marley.

"That's what the backseat is for."

"I have other things in mind." She pulls Quinn around and presses her back against the side of her little car. Quinn moans when Marley kisses her deeply.

"What are you…?"

"Come home with me tonight," says Marley. Her lips skim Quinn's right shoulder, curving into a smile when a shiver passes through Quinn's body.

"... Okay."

* * *

Marley doesn't waste any time. She kicks the door shut behind them with the spike of her heel, not bothering to stop and lock it. Quinn's body presses into her and she whines, struggling to spread her legs wider.

"You'll ruin… your dress," pants Quinn in between kisses.

"You're not helping with that," Marley points out. Her eyes flick to where Quinn's hands are gripping the material.

Quinn huffs a soft protest. She releases Marley's dress and rests her hands on smooth thighs, inching the fabric upwards. With every inch of creamy skin revealed, Quinn pushes forward a step, and Marley yields.

"What are you doing?"

"I'd have thought it would've been obvious by now," comes the breathless reply. "Sit."

Marley nods; her knees give way. She sits on her couch and stares, breathing quickening with anticipation and arousal.

Her girlfriend towers over her, smirking. There's a pair of underwear in her hand, and it looks familiar.

"... When did you take that off?" Marley asks.

"Just now," replies Quinn, clearly enjoying herself. Before she can say anything more, Quinn gracefully sinks to her knees in her beautiful sequined dress.

Marley's thought processes shut down.

Quinn seems aware of the effect she's having on her rapt audience of one. She peers up at Marley with her mischievous little smirk.

She can't help it. She mutters _oh god_ under her breath, and digs her teeth into her lower lip.

It makes Quinn smile wider.

Her palms go back on Marley's knees. Marley watches, a helpless moth before the flame, as Quinn's hands move higher, inch by excruciating inch, finishing the job they started.

A whimper escapes her when her dress has been properly pushed up, bunched around her waist. Marley slumps lower, spreading her legs as wide as they will go.

Unfortunately for Marley, her desperation only seems to fuel Quinn's teasing. She dips her head, the tip of her tongue gliding over the inside of Marley's thigh.

"Please."

Quinn continues as though Marley hasn't spoken. She reaches the apex of her legs, staying maddeningly far from her crotch, and glides back down the other thigh.

Marley tries grabbing for Quinn's head to bring her mouth where it's needed. Quinn rebuffs her with a pinch to her leg that increases her ardor.

"No," growls Quinn.

She decides her hands are better used elsewhere. Marley presses one against her mouth and sits on the other. Quinn gives her a sly smile – her approval, no doubt – and strokes a finger over Marley's swollen clit.

Marley moans.

Without warning, Quinn dives in.

Marley gasps. It's a struggle not to simply lose herself to the mounting pleasure, to arch herself into Quinn's talented mouth. She barely has the presence of mind to wrap her lips around her teeth so she doesn't bite through her hand or tongue or whatever –

She comes, hard. Her hand falls away as her hips jerk, succumbing to her orgasm.

When she opens her eyes, Quinn is beside her.

"That deserved a trophy of its own," she mutters thickly.

Quinn giggles. "That's the first thing you can think to say?"

"You kinda fried my brain. That's all you're getting – until I recover." Slowly, the smile creeps back on her face, and Marley reaches out to touch –

Quick as a flash, she pins Marley's hands between their bodies. "No," Quinn says firmly, "tonight is all about you."

"But – "

"– and if you _cooperate_ ," Quinn speaks over her, " _maybe_ I'll let you have a turn." Her thumbs rub over the delicate skin on the insides of Marley's wrists.

Marley's mouth snaps shut. She nods.

"Good girl."

* * *

They lie, tangled up and sated. Marley feels giddy, positively drunk with love; she started peppering Quinn's neck and jaw with feather-light kisses about five minutes ago and hasn't seen a need to stop yet. Quinn's half-hearted protests don't make it any easier.

"I have something for you, too," Marley says in between kisses. Quinn arches an eyebrow. Marley kisses it.

"That was it?"

"Nope." Marley disentangles their bodies – Quinn lets out a needy, adorable whine – and goes over to her desk. She opens her laptop lid, presses a few buttons, and returns to bed as guitar music starts to play.

When the singer starts, Quinn props her chin up on Marley's shoulder, suddenly alert. "That's _you_ ," she says, sounding awed.

"Yeah." Marley kisses Quinn's left cheekbone – the closest part of Quinn to her mouth.

"But that's Trent's album, isn't it?"

She grins into Quinn's neck. "One of the benefits of being a producer is having unlimited access to the recording equipment. I figured that – being the _very_ biased girlfriend that you are – you wouldn't want just Trent's album, so… I made you another. A very special cover album." Marley's hands slip around the small of Quinn's back, holding her close.

Quinn pushes at her jaw with her nose, so Marley turns her head to look at her. "You made this for me?" she asks in a small voice.

"Yeah." Marley kisses the tip of her nose."It felt right, because it's about finding your path. Moving on. Being stronger. When I wrote it, I used you for inspiration. And me. Us." She flushes at her lack of eloquence and ducks her head, hoping Quinn won't notice.

"Oh." Quinn falls silent, listening to the lyrics. Marley's plaintive voice sings about bending and breaking and recovering.

"I wrote a lot of stuff in that year." She starts carding her fingers through Quinn's hair to give herself something to focus on. "It was freeing. I mean – it's something I do." Marley pauses to think of her next words. "It helped put everything in perspective, you know."

"I think I do," says Quinn. She doesn't apologize. They're past that now.

"Has it really only been a year?"

Quinn frowns. "... I think so. Yes. About a year."

"It's weird, but it feels a lot longer than that – and still too short." Marley drops her hand to the crook of Quinn's elbow. "Like any moment now, I'll wake up from this dream and you'll be gone."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," murmurs Quinn. She strokes Marley's cheek. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." She drops her head, nestling her cheek against Quinn. Marley smiles absently when she feels a kiss being pressed to her temple. "But I'm not sorry."

"You're not?"

"I remember reading something somewhere, one of those random articles. It was about needing to know sadness so we appreciate happiness more."

She feels Quinn nod into her neck. "That makes sense."

"So, I'm not sorry that we had hard times. Because, in the end, you're here. We're here, together. As cheesy as that sounds."

"You're… sometimes, I still don't know how to describe you."

Marley giggles. "You have a degree in English. You could try."

"Not funny. I… you're so much more than mere words, Marley. Sometimes, I don't understand how someone like me found someone like you. We might never have met. We could have been just friends, or I could have – I don't know – settled down with Sam or Puck or even _Rachel_ , and built a life with them. I could never have known everything that I've learned with you, and never missed it." Quinn pauses. "The thought terrifies me; you're a part of me now, that cutting you out would take away the heart of me as well."

Marley kisses her sweetly. "That was a pretty good description."

Quinn snorts. "I didn't actually say anything."

"You said everything that needs to be said." As the song changes, Marley presses close, sings softly along with the Marley on the album:

" _I hear peace in the rhythms of your voice  
Comforts me knowing you have made a choice  
Lost my words in a clouded mind tonight  
Guard the doorway to the truth  
My virtue lives with you_"

Quinn subsides. Her body sinks into Marley's.

* * *

By the time they emerge from the room, the shadows are just beginning to lengthen, and Hugo gives them his most reproachful glare from his doggy bed.

"Sorry, boy," says Marley. "You must be starving."

He follows her movements with his eyes, planted in the centre of the kitchen until she places his food dish in front of him; after which, all his attention is focused on tucking into his breakfast.

In the kitchen, Quinn is just plating their own meals. Marley goes to pour the coffee, their movements coordinated after months of this routine. It makes her start thinking of weeks and months like this, not just days; before she can stop herself, Marley says: "So, I was thinking."

"Hmm?"

Marley gestures between them. "We've been doing this for a while now. You're here more often than not, and if not, it's usually because I've managed to get someone to watch Hugo and I'm at your place."

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices that Quinn has paused, her fork hovering over the plate. "Yeah?"

Asking Quinn to move in with her suddenly seems impossibly daunting. "We – it seems a little unfair if you're always here, you know…? You're paying rent for a place you hardly use." Marley falters. "You've got some things here for impromptu sleepovers. It just makes more sense if, you know…"

Quinn turns quizzical hazel eyes on her. Sunlight illuminates the kitchen, picking out the green in her eyes and adding a golden halo to her blonde hair. "If I?"

Marley sighs. There's no escaping it. "I think… I'd like it if you considered moving in with me. I mean – I'm only saying that because my place is bigger and they let me keep Hugo, but I just want us to live together, so I would be okay if we found another place of our own." As she speaks, she gets increasingly nervous because Quinn's expression has yet to change.

"What?"

"I… want us to live together," says Marley, now completely and utterly defeated – but also terrified of Quinn's answer.

Quinn sets down her fork carefully. "You're not joking?"

"I wouldn't joke about things like this," says Marley, a nervous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Quinn, I really do want this." She pauses. "You're freaking out. Please don't freak out."

She makes an odd noise. "Marley, this is… I wasn't expecting that."

"It was just something I thought we could do," says Marley quickly, "it's fine if you don't want that as well."

"No, I do." Quinn clears her throat, now a shade of pink darker. "I was… I had my concerns, though."

Relief floods through Marley. "Oh. Well, maybe we could discuss that?"

To her surprise, Quinn flushes darker. "I… I'm worried about Hugo."

"What about Hugo?" Marley asks warily. She knows Quinn isn't the biggest fan of animals, but she doesn't believe that Quinn would ask her to choose between her and Hugo.

"Oh God," mutters Quinn. She clasps her hands together tightly. "You got Hugo after we broke up. He's an important part of your life – "

" – like you aren't?" interrupts Marley, torn between relief, amusement, and growing confusion.

" – let me finish." Quinn purses her lips. "He's an important part of your life during that year when we…" She trails off uncomfortably. "He was there for you."

Marley shakes her head. She bends forward so her hair swings forward, shielding her face from Quinn.

"Are you…?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, I…" Quinn scoots over and rests her hand on Marley's knee. Marley straightens, and –

"You're laughing!"

"I'm not," says Marley, and snorts.

"You are! You're laughing at me!" insists Quinn.

The absurdity of the situation hits them both, and they give way to hysterical laughter.

Between wheezes, Marley gasps: "You – oh god – you're freaking out about living together because you don't wanna displace my _dog_ – Quinn, you're just – oh, my _stomach_."

"Glad to know this is so entertaining for you," says Quinn with as much dignity as she can muster through her own giggling.

Still chuckling, Marley reaches out to pull a pouting Quinn into her lap. "I'm not laughing _at_ you," she says adamantly. "I'm laughing _with_ you. You have to admit, your dramatic Broadway diva Rachel Berry impression is hilarious. You should've gone into comedy."

"Whatever," grunts Quinn. Nevertheless, she turns, snuggling her back further into Marley, pulling Marley's arms over her middle and letting out a quiet sigh of contentment.

A pleased Marley kisses Quinn's shoulder. "I love you, you ridiculous dramatic creature."

"I'm not answering to that."

She giggles. "I love you, my very own Rachel Berry impersonator."

"Oh, my God." Quinn attempts to squirm out of Marley's arms, but she holds on tight.

Marley lifts her chin so her lips are level with Quinn's ear. "I love you," she murmurs, "and I love that you understand how important this is to me. I love that you're in my life again. I love how you always make my heart flutter when you show me, every day, how much you care about me. I love how you're making me say all this ridiculously cheesy stuff because you've made them true. Most of all, I'm in love with you."

A soft sound escapes Quinn. "... You're an idiot."

"Your idiot," Marley corrects her.

* * *

She sprawls, lazy and content, on Quinn. Despite the occasional complaint that she's heavy and that she's squashing her internal organs, Quinn has an arm firmly wrapped around Marley's waist that keeps her from moving; the other is preoccupied with tracing random patterns over Marley's upper arm.

Marley wishes Quinn doesn't have to leave. But it's Sunday evening, and Quinn has a Monday morning lecture that she can't miss, being the lecturer and all. Marley makes a noise of displeasure and burrows her face further into the sweet-smelling space between Quinn's head and neck.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Quinn chuckles. "Nothing, huh?" Her hand finds the space between Marley's shoulder blades and rubs. "The nothing being me having to leave in, uh…" She glances at the clock on the wall, "... fifteen minutes?"

She scowls. "Yeah. That nothing."

"We've spent the entire day together," says Quinn. "No, the entire weekend. We'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

"I can't wait." She scoots up so she can beam at Quinn. "You're moving in," she says in reverent tones.

Quinn just looks back at her, soft and happy; so different from the guarded Quinn she met, years ago. "I'm moving in," she echoes, eyes crinkling at the sides as she mirrors Marley's smile.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The chapter title comes from _I Choose You_ by Sara Bareilles, because I couldn't find a more fitting song than this.

Friends, this is the final chapter for this story. Thank you to everyone who's read and/or reviewed this. Special thanks to **gllover22** and **images-in-words** who have been with this every single step of the way (and I do mean every single step, because they've reviewed every chapter). I know I've said this a million times, but I'm grateful for all the encouragement and love shown when I embarked on this rarepair odyssey almost a year and nearly 190,000 words ago.

 **Mike** gets another nod here because he convinced me to start a collection of shorts and oneshots that take place in the TSD universe. While _The Shortest Distance_ has officially ended, the universe lives on.

Finally! I wanna thank y'all for being a part of the longest fanfic I've ever written and completed. I used to write 20k words and be amazed at myself. At 190k words, this is a freaking full-length novel.


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